


All the Wonders That Remain

by missbecky



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-06-01 10:54:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 50,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6515311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbecky/pseuds/missbecky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is his life now, Eggsy thinks. His family on one side, Kingsman on the other. And all around, filling up the space in between, Harry Hart.</p><p>One year together in the life of the perfect spy couple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. November

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic comes from Out of My League, by Fitz and the Tantrums.
> 
> There is now [a Chinese translation of this fic](http://siriusyanwang.lofter.com/post/3d5ac2_b207775) with many thanks to [yanwang](http://archiveofourown.org/users/yanwang). Please check it out!

_I've been getting used to waking up with you_  
_I've been getting used to waking up here_

 

It's cold but sunny on the first day of November, which also happens to be the day Eggsy moves into Harry's house. There's barely a cloud in the sky, and the city looks almost pretty, all scrubbed up and clean. He's never been keen on reading too much into things, but he likes to think that's a good omen all the same.

Over the past couple months he's spent more time at Harry's house than his own, so by this point there isn't much left to bring over. Just a few boxes filled with all the shit he had left behind, old video games he doesn't play anymore, jumpers that are a bit too small, random things he can't remember acquiring and isn't sure he even still needs. It all comes over, stuffed in the boot of a Kingsman cab.

He and Harry carry it all inside and then Eggsy just stands there, staring at the boxes stacked on the living room floor. He expected to feel happy now that he's finally here for real, but instead he's not quite sure what he's feeling.

Harry walks over to him. "Everything all right?"

"Yeah, sure," he replies immediately.

Harry gazes at him for a moment like he's about to call Eggsy out on his bullshit. He doesn't, though. He just says, "Get your coat."

Eggsy gives him a look. "We just got here."

"And now we're leaving again," Harry says.

"Where we going?" Eggsy asks. He's suspicious, but not overly so. He's been with Harry long enough by now to know that most of Harry's surprises turn out to be good ones.

"You'll see," Harry says with that serene calm that sometimes makes Eggsy want to shake him.

He rolls his eyes, but he goes along anyway, of course. Because one thing Eggsy realised long ago is that he would follow Harry to the ends of the earth. Quite literally. He's pretty sure today's journey won't be nearly that long, but yeah. He's in, whatever this is about.

Their destination turns out to be the offices of Harry's solicitor. Thoroughly confused, Eggsy doesn't say anything as a receptionist leads them into a conference room and asks if they want any tea or coffee. Harry declines for both of them, and they sit down side by side in two chairs that are horribly uncomfortable for how much they must have cost.

"You gonna tell me what this is about now?" Eggsy asks quietly. They're the only two people in here, but it feels like a library, like he shouldn't talk above a hushed whisper.

No sooner do the words leave his mouth than the door to the conference room opens and a man walks in. He's old and bald, but his suit is clearly Savile Row, and he smiles at Harry as he sits down across from them. He's carrying a thick file folder filled with papers, which he promptly opens.

"Good morning," the solicitor says. He slides the first sheet of paper across the table, right up to Eggsy. "If you could sign here, please."

Eggsy blanches; there's an entire mountain of paperwork in that file folder. "What the fuck am I signing?" The word slips out before he even realises it, and he winces again. Cursing in a place like this might get him thrown out.

"I'm adding you to the deed to the house," Harry says. "It's your house now, too."

Eggsy's too stunned to know what to say at first. He can feel the weight of the solicitor's gaze on him, but he's only got eyes for Harry. "Are you fucking serious?"

"I am very serious," Harry replies, and Eggsy is sorely tempted to kiss him right then and there, even in front of the bald solicitor.

And so Eggsy becomes an official homeowner. Which is scary as fuck, but also kind of cool.

It changes everything, too. When they get back, he walks up the steps to that white house in Stanhope Mews a different person than he was just three hours ago. These steps are his. This door is his. This house, where he's experienced some of the happiest days of his life –- along with one of the most painful -– is now his. It's one hell of a responsibility, but he fully intends to live up to it.

The joys of home ownership, though, are swiftly tempered with the reality. It's not long before Harry has him seated at the polished dining room table, walking him through the more practical side of things.

So Eggsy learns when the TV licence is due and what day the rubbish is picked up. He learns that Harry's utility bills are all paid via direct deposit, a pre-arranged sum that is often higher than the actual amount of the bill. "Because one never knows when one will be away for months at a time." He learns more about the neighbours than he'll probably ever need to know, including the fact that Mrs. Worthington, two doors down, is still stubbornly trying to set Harry up with her niece, despite eight years of Harry's polite refusals.

It's not at all glamourous or even fun. It gets even less fun when Harry says, "Now, Eggsy, I don't expect you to pay for any of the bills. A Kingsman's salary is based on seniority, and I understand you'll be wanting to make your mum and sister comfortable."

Eggsy just stares. They've never talked about money before. He always thought Harry would be discreet about it, but he sees now the mistake he made in that assumption. Harry is always forthright when it comes to the things he wants. And apparently right now this is something he wants to discuss.

"Fuck that," Eggsy says. "I'll pay for my share."

"I appreciate that," Harry says, "but I can't accept."

Eggsy sits up a little straighter at that. He never thought about it before, he realises, the fact that Harry must be incredibly wealthy, what with the house being paid for and having very few bills each month. No mortgage, no car note, not much of a need for clothes, given that Kingsman clothing accounts for most of his wardrobe. What, in fact, does Harry even spend his money on?

Not that it matters. He won't be anyone's charity case. Not ever, but especially not on the day when they're supposedly equals in this partnership.

"Your family has to come first," Harry says, more gently. He reaches over and takes Eggsy's hand where it's balled into a fist on the table -– he hadn't even realised he'd done it.

And yeah, okay. That's absolutely true. He moved his mum and Daisy into the house Kingsman gave him, just a few streets over, and he even lived there with them for a few months. But it never felt like home, not like this house. But even having moved away, he would never abandon them and just leave them to their own devices. Of course he's going to help them out. His mum has already found and lost two new jobs since V-Day, and he's sure there will be others before she manages to straighten out her life. And he's gonna be there for her, for as long as that takes.

And then there's Daisy to consider, his beautiful, brave, baby sister who deserves all the chances in life that he never got. He's daydreamed about it, all the things he's going to do for her. The public schools, the toys and clothes, the chance to indulge her hobbies and interests; if Daisy wants to be a gymnast, nothing will get in her way. Daisy will never be mocked or struck or forced to do illegal and dangerous things just to bring in enough money so the family can eat that week. She's going to know a different life from the one Eggsy knew. Far different.

He studies their hands, Harry's resting on top of his, those long, slender fingers that have killed more people than Eggsy will ever know.

He's not stupid. He knows Harry is right. But he also knows this is about the debt Harry still feels he owes Michelle Unwin, and his guilt over not being there during those rough years in Eggsy's life, when Eggsy learned first the art of petty theft and then the more dangerous skill of knowing just how much he could withhold from Dean without being caught out.

"Okay," he says. "But just for a while, yeah?" He turns his hand over and squeezes Harry's fingers. "My mum will get a job that sticks soon, I know it. And then we'll talk about it again."

"All right," Harry says.

His easy agreement has Eggsy instantly wary. "Promise me," he insists.

"I promise," Harry says. Although Eggsy knows he's only promising to have that discussion –- not to change his mind about their current financial set up.

But it's enough.

Eggsy looks around at the dining room, and the house beyond. This is his life now, he thinks. His family on one side, Kingsman on the other. And all around, filling up the space in between, Harry Hart.

****

The nice weather lasts for nearly a week, practically a record for London at this time of year. On the same day the clouds finally roll in, Eggsy gets a call from his mum.

"You need to come get her," she says tonelessly.

Eggsy is already up and moving. "I'm on my way."

It's been like this since V-Day. Most of the time his mum is fine, or at least she says she is. But sometimes she looks at Daisy and she sees the child she nearly killed, and it freaks her out too much. Those are the days when she calls Eggsy, sometimes begging him to come take Daisy away from her.

Usually when this happens, he takes Daisy to the park. Today, though, he takes her home.

Harry is in the living room when he walks in. Immediately he feels guilty; he ran out of here so quickly he didn't even stop to explain where he was going or why. And it's clear Harry was worried. It's there in the way his shoulders go down a little as he relaxes, and the softening in his eyes.

"Sorry," Eggsy says. "I had to get her."

Harry doesn't ask why. He knows about these episodes of Michelle's. He's known since the second time she called, sending Eggsy racing for the bullet train beneath HQ and cursing the length of the journey back to London.

In his arms, Daisy squirms and looks around with bright curiosity. JB barks at her, but just the once before losing interest. She's been here before, one afternoon when it was raining and Eggsy couldn't think of anywhere else to go. They didn't stay long, and he mostly entertained her with cartoons on the telly.

"Is everything all right?" Harry asks.

"Yeah," Eggsy says. His mum was chain-smoking, pacing back and forth, unwilling to even look at Daisy. She wouldn't hug him good-bye, but she did mumble a thank-you. She'll be okay in a few hours -– or at least she usually is -– but that knowledge does nothing for the knot of anxiety curled up behind his breastbone.

Harry walks over. He's met Daisy a couple times, but she's too young to really remember him. That's the only good thing about all of this. She's too young for any of the bad shit to affect her. She won't ever remember Dean or V-Day or that her mother sometimes couldn't stand even the sight of her.

"Hello, Miss Daisy." Harry smiles at her.

Daisy studies him with the same interest she uses for anything new and different to cross her path. She sits on Eggsy's hip, her left arm wrapped around him, her free hand toying with her mouth.

"Would you like a snack?" Harry asks.

Daisy considers this for a couple seconds. Then she grunts and extends her hand toward Harry.

"I guess that's a yes," Harry says.

"You think?" Eggsy says.

Harry goes into the kitchen, and Eggsy carries his sister over to the couch. He sets her down and immediately she scrambles up to stand on the cushion, clutching the back of the couch for balance. She points at Harry and pronounces, "Bah!"

"Exactly," Eggsy says.

Daisy looks at him. "Bah?"

"Do you even know what little kids eat for a snack?" Eggsy asks. He hovers one hand behind Daisy's rump, ready to catch her if it looks like she's about to topple over.

"Of course not," Harry says from in the kitchen. He doesn't sound all that perturbed, though.

Daisy bends her knees, sort of bouncing up and down. She chatters away in her not-quite talk, clearly pleased with herself. Eggsy looks at her and loves her so much it feels like his heart will break.

Harry emerges from the kitchen with a bowl of sliced-up apples. The pieces are small enough that Daisy won't choke, and the skin has been peeled off. Daisy reaches for the bowl with both arms, leaning against the back cushion of the couch.

"Is this all right?" Harry asks.

The concern on his face is touching. And the fact that he peeled the apple first is somehow the most touching thing of all. "Yeah," Eggsy says. "It's fine."

JB comes scampering back over, lured by the hope of scrounging for scraps. Daisy laughs at him and pats the air in his general direction, coming nowhere near actually petting him. JB doesn't seem to mind; he settles back on his haunches and pants at her, waiting patiently for anything she might drop.

Harry returns to the kitchen, but this time he's back again almost right away. In one hand he has some napkins. In the other he carries a juice glass two-thirds filled with water. It's not really appropriate for a little kid, but it's the best they've got.

Daisy takes the glass solemnly, holding it with both hands. She dribbles a little down her front as she drinks, but what the hell, it's only water.

Eggsy turns the TV on and searches until he finds a likely cartoon. He's never heard of it, but Daisy seems to like it well enough. Her eyes are glued to the screen as she eats her apples and drinks her water.

With some caution, Harry sits down on the other side of Daisy. She doesn't even glance at him, just keeps watching the telly.

Their eyes meet over her head. After a moment, Eggsy rests his right arm along the back of the couch. Harry gives him a smile, then reaches up with his left hand so their fingers are entwined.

Eggsy says nothing. Between them, Daisy munches her snack and watches her cartoon. It's such a sweet, domestic moment that a tiny part of him wants to gag.

He hates that part of himself. It was born and nurtured by Dean, by a lifetime of tough unsentimentality. It's a part of him that knows better than to admit to liking anything for fear of mockery or worse, having it taken away just to hurt him. It's a part of him that aches, and always will.

But mostly he's just quietly grateful for moments like this. When life doesn't seem so shitty anymore. When he can be happy without fear of reprisal.

He could get used to this, he thinks.

****

Despite the clouds, the weather remains dry, so after a quick trip to the shop for nappies, they end up at the park after all. Daisy shrieks with glee and runs straight for the slide.

It's a good afternoon, marred only by the certain knowledge that everyone else there obviously has the wrong impression. They look at him and Harry and Daisy and see three generations come out to play: daughter, father, grandfather. It's something he doesn't let himself forget; there are no kisses, no lingering gazes. It's strictly business.

Daisy, of course, knows none of this. She runs around the playground with boundless energy, keeping Eggsy on his toes just to keep an eye on her. He gets a bit of a breather when Harry pushes her on the swing for a while, and even takes a couple pictures with his phone.

He's starting to give serious thought to what they're going to do about dinner when his phone rings. It's his mum.

They gather everything up and walk through the gloom to his mum's house. Daisy sits easily on Harry's hip, chattering away to him; he responds with adult seriousness, asking questions she happily answers, real words occasionally mixed in with the babble. It's utterly adorable, and Eggsy takes a few more pictures.

His mum is looking better, but she's clearly unhappy at seeing Harry. She strongly disapproves of their relationship, something she's made very clear. In front of Daisy, though, she doesn't say anything. She just glares.

Halfway home, Harry says, "We should keep some things at the house for your sister."

Eggsy hoists the plastic shopping bag containing the nappies. "Got these."

"A good start," Harry approves. "What else do we need?"

Startled, Eggsy says, "You serious?"

"Of course I am," Harry replies. He sounds a little offended, like he can't believe Eggsy just said that to him. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Put on the spot, Eggsy can't honestly think of a reason why. "I dunno," he admits. "I guess I just thought..." Well, he knows what he thought, but he can't say it out loud. _I guess I just thought you was like Dean and all the boyfriends she had before him. The ones who said they liked kids and were good with them, only to not give a shit when it really came down to it._

But that's incredibly unfair and he knows it. Harry is nothing like Dean Baker. Nothing at all.

"Sorry," he says. He feels an almost frantic urge to make amends, to show he didn't mean it, he didn't mean to make Harry angry. "I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to apologize for," Harry says. The urgency of Eggsy's apology goes sailing over his head. "I suppose it does seem odd. I realise I'm hardly the type to invite small children into my house." He looks over at Eggsy and without seeming to be aware of it, slows his stride. "Daisy is your sister. And that makes her important to me. I want her to always feel welcome in our house."

And then, while Eggsy is still trying to figure out if he's for real, he adds, "Besides, we had a delightful conversation today that I'd very much like to finish sometime."

Just like that the tension is gone. Eggsy busts out laughing. God he's so far gone for this man. And little wonder, when he does shit like this.

They start walking again at a normal pace. Still grinning, Eggsy says, "So we gonna turn the guest room into Daisy's room?"

Harry doesn't flinch, but he does pause for a bit longer than usual before saying, "We could, I suppose. If you think your mother would allow her to stay overnight. When she's older, of course."

"She will," Eggsy says with certainty. He's determined to find a way to bridge the gap between Harry and his mum. The two most important people in his life need to get along. He won't accept anything less. Not without trying, anyway.

"Well, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it," Harry says. "For now let's just focus on getting the things Daisy needs if she's going to spend an afternoon with us."

"Okay," Eggsy agrees.

****

That night he says, "Listen."

Harry looks up at him, hair hanging in his eyes, cheeks flushed. "What?"

"Listen," Eggsy says. He draws out the sibilant as he sinks slowly down on Harry's cock, dragging out both the sound and the movement, easing himself down until he can't get Harry's cock any deeper inside him and he feels wonderfully, achingly full. "I got somethin' to say to you."

"I'm listening." Harry's hands roam over his hips, his thighs, the curve of his arse. They sweep over his belly, and one hand curls about his cock, giving it a warm pull.

Eggsy's hips twitch forward. He rises a little, then slowly sinks back down again. Beneath him, Harry groans, half-rising off the pillows propping him up.

"What you did today," Eggsy says. He leans down, arching his back so he can hover over Harry while keeping his cock buried deep in his arse. Precome slimes his stomach, his cock thick between them.

"Yes," Harry says, but it's clear he doesn't know what Eggsy's talking about. His fingers knead Eggsy's arse, thumbs rubbing at his hipbones.

Eggsy lays his hands on either side of Harry's face. He leans down a little more and kisses the scar on Harry's temple, where the glasses that saved his life shattered beneath that bullet. "You," he says.

"Yes?" Harry's breath is hot on his skin. He nips lightly at Eggsy's jaw.

He kisses the little furrow between Harry's eyebrows. The bridge of his nose. The dimple in his chin. Harry tilts his head back obligingly, and Eggsy kisses his mouth. "I fucking love you," he says.

"And I love you," Harry breathes. He moves a little beneath Eggsy, straining to keep still.

"I love living with you," Eggsy says. "I love waking up next to you in the morning. I love that you're so far gone on me you peel apples for my baby sister and push her on the swing like you got nothing better to do."

He sits up. "And I fucking love this, too."

He starts to rock back and forth, rising up onto his knees a little, then sinking back down. Harry's hands grab hold of him and don't let go, lifting him a little and then lowering him when his movement becomes erratic, urging him to greater speed. He fucks himself on Harry's cock and strokes himself with the same rhythm, his hand slick with his precome.

Before Harry, he never knew it was possible to be this happy.

After, all cleaned up and lying together in the bed that's now his, too, Harry wraps one arm about his shoulders and kisses him. "I love living with you, too," he says.


	2. December

_I'm a man who's got very specific taste_  
_You, you're just my type_

 

It turns cold the first week of December, and never really warms back up again. Harry learned long ago not to let the weather affect him, but it's impossible to deny that the colder weather actually has a positive effect on Eggsy. For one thing, now that it's colder out, there are a lot more opportunities for sitting together on the couch, a knitted afghan spread across their laps.

The cold is also a rather blunt reminder of the approaching holiday season. Most years Harry scarcely notices Christmas except as a nuisance, being either too busy to give it much thought or else too uninterested. He hasn't put a tree up in at least a decade, and he doesn't own any decorations except a wreath for the door and some candles he sticks in the windows -- when he actually remembers to do so.

But everything is different with Eggsy. It's not even the sixth of December when Eggsy asks where they're going to put the tree.

Harry stares blankly at him for a moment. All he can think of in that first confused instant is the back garden and how this is no time to be planting trees. Then he realizes what Eggsy is talking about, and he feels a rush of something so foreign it takes him a while to recognize it as embarrassment.

"I hadn't really thought of it. It seemed like something we should discuss together," he says, covering his lapse fairly well. Or so he hopes. 

Eggsy doesn't seem to notice, thankfully. He stands there in the middle of the living room, chewing his lip. "I think there." He points to the front window. "Not like you get a lot of people on the street, but you can still see the lights from outside. It'll look nice."

"All right," Harry says.

Eggsy turns toward him. "You do have a tree, right?"

Harry says nothing.

Eggsy groans, loud and melodramatic. " _Harry_."

"I have spent eight of the last ten Christmases away from home," Harry says stiffly. "Need I remind you that our lives do not exactly follow any sort of schedule?"

Given that it's currently one o'clock in the morning and they've only been home an hour from their latest mission, it's a good point. But Eggsy just shrugs. "Yeah," he says. "But it's Christmas."

Harry sighs mentally. There is really no argument for that, and he knows it.

****

So for the next week Eggsy is in charge of turning Harry's house into a winter wonderland. Mostly Harry indulges him in this; he strongly suspects this is the first time Eggsy's ever had the chance for it. Christmas was most likely nothing special in that house he grew up in. And of course Harry can never forget that he is the one who forever ruined Christmas for the entire Unwin family.

Eggsy does well with the decorating. The tree goes up right where he said it would. And indeed the lights are visible from the street, a welcoming glow that is actually quite pretty. The wreath goes on the door, and another one materializes on the wall above the fireplace mantle. A sprig of mistletoe is hung in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, and Harry makes sure to "catch" Eggsy beneath it at least twice a day.

Even JB gets into the holiday spirit, if somewhat reluctantly, when Eggsy attaches a jingle bell to his collar. Harry endures the noise for nearly an hour before he can't take it anymore and he releases the poor creature.

"Aww," Eggsy says. He pouts a little, but there's nothing but mischief in his eyes, and Harry knows perfectly well that Eggsy did it deliberately to see how long he would put up with it.

Two can play that game, though. And Harry always plays to win. He holds up the jingle bell. "If you're so insistent on someone wearing this, I suggest you do it."

Eggsy, of course, can never say no to a challenge. So that night Harry attaches the bell to Eggsy's cock, wrapping a red Christmas ribbon around his length so the bell jingles merrily with every move he makes. Eggsy struts around proudly naked, the ridiculous bell leading the way. "Need me a Santa hat," he says. "Complete my outfit."

"What you need is a good fucking," Harry growls.

Eggsy wriggles his ass, the bell jingling in invitation. He takes hold of his cock and glides his fingers over the Christmas ribbon. "Come and unwrap me then."

He's the best present Harry's ever got, and it isn't even Christmas yet.

****

On the 21st, Arthur summons them to his office.

They're late, of course. Harry takes his seat and settles in for the long haul. Their new Arthur enjoys hearing himself talk; there is no such thing as a quick meeting with him.

Harry doesn't know this Arthur terribly well. The man would not have been his choice for the role, but he was still in hospital after Kentucky when the succession occurred. Not that it would have mattered. Kingsman is hardly a democracy; even if he had been available to put forth his opinion, no one would have asked for it.

He _is_ asked to follow orders, though, the same as always. Harry has no problem with this. His allegiance to Kingsman has not changed simply because Arthur now wears a different face. The only thing that's different as far as Harry is concerned is that he is a lot more discerning these days. Never again will he blindly follow orders meant to lead him to his death.

Some things never change, though. The new Arthur has two files in front of him. Merlin stands ready for the inevitable slideshow, clipboard in hand.

"We have a problem developing in Poland," Arthur begins.

Harry doesn't even blink -- but he does bid a silent farewell to all his Christmas plans.

Between them, Arthur and Merlin lay out the situation. One of Poland's top programmers, who just so happens to work for the government, has been missing for over a week. Kingsman has intercepted emails that indicate she is about to be sold to a group of Russian hackers. The job is deceptively simple. Stop the exchange and save the programmer.

It's not really a mission that requires two agents, and Harry's suspicions are confirmed when Arthur says, "After you've freed her, I want you to recruit her."

Harry nods. Eggsy sits up a little; this is new for him.

"The details of the exchange are still being worked out," says Merlin. "Right now our sources indicate it will be in a small town on the border near Russia." He pauses ever so slightly. "At three o'clock in the morning. On Christmas Day."

"What?" Eggsy makes no effort to hide his shocked displeasure. "You're sending us out to the coldest part of the world on fucking _Christmas_?"

Arthur gazes at Eggsy over clasped hands, waiting.

Harry says nothing. He knows this is just another test, as so many things at Kingsman are. What Eggsy says next will prove where his loyalties really lie. With the family that most people here would say will only drag him down, or with Kingsman.

As ever, Eggsy passes the test. But not without getting in a jab of his own. "Guess I better tell my mum not to wait up."

"Indeed," Arthur says dryly.

Merlin provides the details of their travel and accommodations. They leave tonight. If all goes well and they can swiftly convince the programmer to spy on her own government for Kingsman, they could be home late Christmas Day.

But probably not.

****

At home there are preparations to make. Eggsy takes JB to his mum's house while Harry sets timers on the lights. He packs with swift efficiency, knowing exactly what he needs to bring on a mission of this scope and location.

He's in the living room, cleaning his gun when Eggsy walks in. "I packed most of your gear," Harry says. The suitcase is on the bed upstairs, still open, ready for Eggsy to add or subtract from it as needed.

Eggsy nods. He slouches on the arm of the chair where Harry sits. "So much for our first Christmas together."

Harry reaches up to rub Eggsy's back. "We'll still be spending it together," he says.

Eggsy sways back a tiny bit, just enough to lean into Harry's touch. "Yeah," he grouches. "Freezing our asses off."

"I should hope not," Harry says. "I've become quite fond of your ass." He knows it's a terrible joke but he can't help himself.

Eggsy groans. "You're the worst."

"I know," Harry says. He tips over to his left and rests his forehead on Eggsy's arm. Immediately Eggsy lifts his arm and drapes it across Harry's shoulders, pulling him in a little. In turn Harry shifts closer in the chair, his head nestled now on Eggsy's chest.

He closes his eyes. He doesn't think about the upcoming mission or the gun in his lap. He breathes in the smells of Eggsy and home, savoring the warmth of Eggsy's body so close to his.

He never imagined he might know such peace, or be so happy with another person.

It's so easy to wrap both arms around Eggsy's middle. Eggsy's hand slides upward, nails scraping lightly over the back of his neck before his fingers card through Harry's hair. He's messing up the careful styling, but just then Harry doesn't give a shit.

He's both pleased and proud to share this mission with Eggsy. He expects it will go smoothly.

But he still worries.

****

Poland is very cold.

The town where the exchange is scheduled to take place is small enough that the sudden arrival of two strangers would be noticed. They take rooms instead two towns over, an hour's drive away.

All their preparations will have to be done at night, after driving to their destination over icy, unfamiliar roads. Eggsy speaks no Polish and only crude Russian. Harry is fluent in both but is expected to stay well away from anyone who might rat them out, so outside of their hotel, he doesn't anticipate needing to use either language. The water in their bathroom never gets warmer than tepid, they've had to stuff a blanket against the windowsill to keep the cold from coming in, and he's pretty sure they're paying twice what the room is worth.

It's not the worst mission he's been on by far, but it's a long way from the most comfortable, too. Still, Harry really can't complain.

Eggsy's presence makes all the difference. For three days they sleep during the afternoon, huddled up for warmth, heavy drapes pulled over the hotel window to block out the wintry daylight. They wake up after dark and have warm stew for breakfast, then drive out to the town.

The hours spent there in reconnaissance are strangely pleasant, though Harry would never have expected to say so. It's very cold and very dark; the moon is a thin sliver in the sky. By Christmas it will be completely dark all night long, which is no doubt part of the reason the kidnappers chose that day to transfer their hostage to her new captors.

In the nighttime stillness he walks the town, making note of the streets, the shops, the rooftops that would provide a good spot for a sniper versus the ones with no clear line of sight. He follows the road leading out of town and into the thick woods stretching off toward Russia. He talks to no one and is seen by no one.

Toward morning he meets Eggsy back at their car, which is parked beneath the shelter of thick pine trees, well away from the town so no one might accidentally discover it. They drive in silence back to their hotel, then drink hot tea to warm up again and compare notes. They pull the drapes over the window, climb into bed and curl up together and fall asleep for a few hours. And when the sun goes down they wake up and start all over again.

In a strange way it's almost like going away on holiday. Despite the discomfort and the knowledge that very soon they will both be in danger, Harry's spirits are light. He never forgets that he's here to do a job, but the fact that he's not here alone changes everything. Eggsy does everything the mission requires of him, and does it well. Back at the hotel, he complains and swears about their dismal living conditions, learns enough phrases in Polish and Russian to get by, and in bed wraps himself around Harry like a clinging vine, all arms and legs beneath the blankets. 

On Christmas Eve night, the alarm wakes them at the usual time. Harry showers first, hurrying to step out from under the barely-warm water and get dressed. He's still shivering a little as he emerges into the bedroom.

Eggsy greets him with a kiss. "Talked to my mum just now. She said to wish you a Happy Christmas."

Harry knows she said no such thing. He's glad to hear that Eggsy talked to her, though. The excuse he gave for his abrupt absence was that a rich client was demanding one of his tailors be at his beck and call for the holiday party season. Eggsy had explained that he drew the short straw because he was the newest and youngest tailor at Kingsman, then added that Harry had volunteered to go with him so he wouldn't have so much to do, and so he wouldn't be alone for the holiday. Michelle had accepted the explanation but she hadn't been happy about it at all, and she had initially rebuffed Eggsy's texts.

"How is she?" Harry asks.

"She was baking cookies, she said," Eggsy says. He shrugs, a little too exaggerated, like it doesn't hurt him that his mother is doing all the domestic things for Daisy that she never did for him.

He wishes he knew the right words to take away that hurt. He wishes it had never existed in the first place. He wishes, sometimes so violently it makes his chest ache, that he had met Eggsy under different circumstances. That he was younger, that Eggsy hadn't suffered so much, that the ghost of Lee Unwin wouldn't forever drift between them.

"We can bake when we get back," Harry offers. "If you like."

Eggsy gives him a look, maybe wondering how his cooking skills translate to baking. (The answer is just fine, thank you.) "I dunno," he says. "I bet you won't let me eat raw cookie dough from the bowl."

"I would never," Harry says, scandalized.

"I knew it," Eggsy says, all gloomy and sad.

"Everyone knows cookie dough tastes best when it's licked from the spoon," Harry says, smugly pleased to have got the last word in this time.

Eggsy's mouth drops open, then spreads in a slow smile of surprised happiness. "You do that shit on purpose, don't you?"

"I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about," Harry says stiffly in his poshest accent.

"Yeah, okay," Eggsy says. He chuckles a little as he heads for the bathroom so he can take his own lightning-swift shower.

Harry heads for his suitcase. He's changed his mind. That smile is the best Christmas present he's ever received.

****

Over the past three days they've identified a couple likely places for the exchange. All they need to do now is wait to see which ones their targets choose.

Eggsy takes up his place covering one route entering town; half a mile away, Harry settles into his own position. He's been in this situation countless times over the years, this endless period before the action when he feels suspended in time, unable to go either forward or back until he knows what the enemy is doing. As a young agent he found it all but unbearable, he was so restless with the desire to _do_ something. Time and repetition have made it easier, but it's still the worst part of an operation.

The time ticks away slowly. In the town, the Christmas revelries seem oddly muted. Harry shifts a little in the cold, careful not to leave the patch of shadow he has chosen for his vigil, shoves his gloved hands deeper into his coat pockets and silently curses the day Merlin told him bulletproof earmuffs were not feasible.

Then a voice speaks to him over his glasses. Quiet, hardly breaking the cold silence of the night. "Happy Christmas, love."

It must be midnight. Harry smiles into the darkness. "Happy Christmas, dearest."

Back at HQ, no doubt Merlin is shaking his head and trying not to roll his eyes. Harry doesn't mind. He holds those three words close, letting them warm him. They are a poor substitute for having Eggsy right here with him, but for now they will do.

The last of the noise from the town dwindles and dies. It's very cold. The sky overhead is shot through with stars. There's enough light to see by, that queer light that only occurs on a frozen winter night, starlight reflected off old snow painting everything a hazy silver. Harry walks briskly back and forth to keep his blood from freezing in his veins, looks again for the splash of approaching headlights, and hopes that Eggsy is staying warm on his side of town.

"Got some activity here," Eggsy says.

It turns out to be two mercs the Russian hackers have sent ahead, which is exactly what Harry expected them to do. The mercs are here to make sure the Poles don't back out on them or screw them over on their deal. Given that the "deal" is for a human being's life, Harry has no qualms whatsoever about killing them when the time comes.

He moves through the town, staying to the shadows, receiving the occasional update from Eggsy as he follows the mercs to the area agreed on for the exchange -- a narrow, cobbled bridge arching over a river that's been frozen solid for nearly a month.

"In position," Eggsy says quietly. He's on the rooftop across the street, rifle at the ready. Harry's pride is only slightly wounded by the fact that Eggsy is a better shot than he is, thus earning the role of sniper. Mostly he's just proud, anticipating yet another job well done.

On foot, he silently approaches the mercenaries. They are in the shadows, one at each end of the bridge. Harry approves of their layout; he would have done the same if he was in charge of things on their end. Unfortunately for them, they're both in Eggsy's sights.

Unseen, Harry takes up his last position of the night, in the doorway of the shop nearest the bridge.

Time draws out again. The mercs remain still. It occurs to Harry as he stands there, waiting for more bad people to show up so he can shoot them in the head, that he's actually happy.

He honestly can't say he ever expected to find himself in this position. All those years ago when he joined Kingsman he had known what he was giving up, that there would be no chance for a normal, committed relationship. He had tried it a couple times over the years all the same, but there had always been something vital missing, something that left him unsatisfied at the time and quietly grateful when those relationships inevitably ended in disaster.

And now, Eggsy.

He checks the rooftop where Eggsy lies flat, snow and ice brushed aside, rifle aimed and ready. He can see no dark silhouette against the night sky, nothing to reveal his position.

But then, he knew he wouldn't.

And that's the thing, that's what was missing from those failed relationships of the past. Eggsy might be half his age, but they are every bit equally matched. Almost from the very start, Eggsy had his trust, something Harry would have said was impossible before that fateful day at the Black Prince. But more than that, Eggsy has his respect.

Theirs is a true partnership, he thinks. In their home and at work, it makes no difference. They have each other's back. They can read each other with ease, a fact that ought to make Harry desperately uneasy but instead only makes him feel secure.

"We got incoming," Eggsy says in his ear.

Yes. He's known that for a little while, watching the closest merc snap to attention; one of their number has clearly radioed ahead.

Headlights split the night, and that's it then. Harry casts aside everything extraneous to the mission. Eggsy is not his lover then but only an ally, a point of trust, assistance in the dark to help him meet his objective.

"Good luck," Eggsy whispers.

For a brief moment he's Harry again, hearing those words. He even smiles just the tiniest bit. Then it vanishes and he is just the highly skilled killer Kingsman made of him all those years ago.

Everything after that is perfect, so textbook it could be one of Merlin's training simulations for new recruits. The Russians drive up to their side of an imaginary line drawn across the bridge, and the Poles do the same. Car doors slam shut. Two men approach each other cautiously while the Russian mercs waiting in the shadows clutch their guns and wait to see how it goes down.

While they wait, Harry creeps up behind them and kills them. Two slit throats and it's done, blood on his gloves and the knife heavy in his pocket. He pulls his pistol and drops of blood fall to the snow, black under the winterlight.

Eggsy waits until they bring out the programming genius. Two quick shots take out the men escorting her across the road, while Harry shoots the Russian hackers waiting on their prize. The woman hits the ground, smartly taking herself out of the equation. The last two men spin about, looking for the shooters, and then spin some more as Eggsy picks them off.

And then it's over.

Harry approaches the scene slowly, mindful of anyone who might not be quite dead yet. He's completely confident in Eggsy's ability to cover him, but old habits keep him cautious.

The programmer is quietly crying, her arms over her head. Harry speaks to her in Polish and tells her that she is safe now.

On the ground, no one stirs. Blood spatters the snow. Clean kills, every one of them.

"All clear," Eggsy says.

"All clear," Harry replies.

The woman is still in shock over everything that's happened to her in the past week. It's the perfect time to make his pitch. Harry explains about Kingsman and what they would like from her. She listens and doesn't ask questions. Eggsy joins them and stands off to one side, right hand clasped over left wrist; the pose grants him immediate access to the amnesia dart in his watch.

The dart is unnecessary, though. The programmer owes them her life and she knows it. Furthermore, she has strong issues with some of the decisions her government has made lately. Without much fuss at all, she agrees to spy for them. 

Harry tells her that her handler will be in touch soon. He gives her the word code she should expect to hear, and the response she should make in return. He thanks her for her service and says she'll do great. They drive her to the police station and watch her go inside.

And that's it. Another successful mission, another recruit for Kingsman, another lesson learned for Eggsy. 

And it's not even dawn yet on Christmas Day.

****

After the bone-chilling cold of Poland, London feels almost balmy. They walk from the shop to Stanhope Mews, and the difference between now and a few hours ago is overwhelming.

The Christmas lights and displays are ridiculous compared to the violence they took part in just this morning. It would be easy to sneer at the lighted trees and cheery Santas, to feel superior to all those people bundled up in winter coats sipping their coffees. Yet Harry is grateful for them and the shop windows with their fake snow. He even appreciates the noise of the traffic, slowed considerably for the holiday but nevertheless still quite present. It can be hard to come back to a normal life after a mission. Sometimes it takes days, even weeks to feel like you belong back here again.

Having someone else there, someone who knows exactly what you're feeling because they're feeling it too, well that's something Harry is still getting used to.

He looks over and sees a somewhat glazed look on Eggsy's face, a visible expression of what they are both experiencing. And though he is not normally demonstrative in public, Harry does not hesitate as he reaches out and takes Eggsy's hand.

Eggsy jerks a little in surprise. He glances down at their clasped hands like he's not entirely sure how they got that way. Then he smiles, bright and beautiful.

At home there will be strands of lights and the Christmas tree in the window. A wreath above the fireplace and mistletoe in the doorway. There will be hot tea and whisky and food for the oven. He has gifts for Eggsy, some of which require no wrapping paper.

With everything that's already happened today, it's going to be a very long day. By the time he falls asleep tonight, Eggsy curled up beside him, he will be exhausted.

Harry smiles a little to himself. He glances over at Eggsy and catches Eggsy looking at him curiously.

"What?" Eggsy asks.

"Happy Christmas," Harry says.


	3. January

_Take me in, into your darkest hour_  
_And I'll never desert you_  
_I'll stand by you_

Roxy invites them both to a New Year's party. Eggsy happily accepts, and so does Harry at first, but a couple days later he declines and says he will be staying in. Dismayed, Eggsy tries to change his mind. He really wants to go; it's been ages since he went out just to have a good time.

Harry remains firm in his decision, but he insists that Eggsy still go. "Have fun," he says. "You can tell me about it when you get back."

So Eggsy goes to Roxy's party, although not without some reluctance. Despite having Harry's blessing, he can't help feeling bad, like he's abandoning Harry or something.

Within half an hour though, he's having so much fun he forgets to feel guilty. Roxy's friends are like her, fun and clever and not at all stuck up or snotty about their obvious wealth. They think he's one of them because of his expensive clothes, and though a few of them blink in surprise when they hear his accent, no one asks any questions or mocks him. They're all pretty cool, in fact.

And they are all nearly the same age as him and Roxy. Standing by the bar with a drink in one hand, he understands why Harry chose to stay home.

Guilt washes over him again. He shouldn't have come. What's Harry doing tonight? The thought of him just sitting around like it's a normal night, the house still and silent around him, makes Eggsy feel about two inches tall. He's a shitty person and an even shittier boyfriend.

He's gonna leave, he decides. Say his farewells to Roxy and then just go home.

Before he can even move away from the bar, though, one of Roxy's friends calls out to him. They're playing one of those old school dance games where you stomp around on a mat, and one of the teams is short a person. It's a totally stupid game.

But it's also a lot of fun.

****

When it's time to leave, he hugs Roxy and even gives her a kiss, to the cheering delight of several of her friends. "Thanks for having me."

She grins, flushed with champagne and looking really pretty in a white dress. "I'm glad you came."

"Cheers," and then he's out the door.

It's cold out. Traffic is horrible, but he's on foot and sometimes actually moving faster than the cars all lined up, the drivers honking at each other in frustration. He walks swiftly down the London streets, hands thrust deep in the pockets of his black duffel coat. It was a Christmas present from Harry, and he fucking loves it. It's thick and warm, with enormous toggles down the front. It's nothing fancy or formal. It's just a really fucking great coat.

As he walks toward the house, he sees the lights are on. The Christmas tree still glows in the front window; they've agreed to take it down tomorrow. JB barks as Eggsy lets himself in, but it's a sleepy sound, like he can't be arsed enough to really try.

Harry is on the couch, a book on his lap. A nearly empty glass of whisky sits on the coffee table alongside a plate containing crumbs from the Christmas cookies he obviously ate earlier. He's wearing a soft gray jumper that clings to his broad shoulders.

And he's clearly surprised to see Eggsy. "I didn't expect you back for at least a couple hours. It isn't even midnight yet."

"Did you really think I wasn't gonna get my kiss at midnight?" Eggsy asks.

Harry's expression softens still further as he realizes Eggsy left the party early for his sake. He sets his book aside on the couch and stands up. "Then I suppose I better not disappoint."

Eggsy moves toward him. "You never could."

Harry tastes like whisky and chocolate. One hand cradles Eggsy's face, so warm after his walk through the cold night air.

Midnight comes and goes, although Eggsy has no idea when. All he knows is that he gets a lot more than just a kiss that night. And when he wakes up, pleasantly worn out, Harry's arm is wrapped around him and it's a new year.

****

A couple weeks later they're asked to meet with Arthur to discuss their next mission. Eggsy is a little surprised by how soon it is after their last one, but he's certainly not about to say no. He loves being a Kingsman, but even more than that, he loves being a Kingsman with Harry.

It's bitterly cold out, but the shop on Savile Row is wonderfully warm; can't have the wealthy clients getting cold as they stand in their skivvies to be measured, after all. Eggsy follows Harry up the steps to the first floor, appreciating the view from behind, and bites his lip to keep from smiling.

Arthur is waiting for them in the dining room, impeccably dressed, grey hair combed perfectly in place. Merlin is there, too, seated at the foot of the table, clipboard beside him. He looks a bit ill at ease in his jumper, like he's not entirely certain he belongs here.

"Good afternoon, Galahad. Gawain." Arthur nods regally.

Eggsy takes a seat next to Harry, on Arthur's right. He's never going to sit here and not think of the day he killed Chester King. He wonders if their new Arthur thinks about that, too, then decides he really doesn't want to know.

"I have something for you," Arthur says. He looks at Harry. "Or rather, your cover. Mr. DeVere."

Eggsy listens as Arthur details the mission. The main target is Mathieu Fournier, a known criminal in Paris who has ties to several major terrorist organizations in Europe. He's also become fabulously wealthy through blackmail, although it's been something of a puzzle as to how he's getting his information. Kingsman has had their eye on him for some time, and they think they've finally figured out the source of his extra income.

"He has a friend," Merlin says, taking over smoothly. He taps at his clipboard, and an image fills the screen on the wall opposite the dining room table. "Pierre Durand. They went to school together. He's a doctor now. Psychologist, actually."

"We believe that's where Fournier is getting his information," Arthur says.

"You think Durand is passing on his client's secrets," Harry says.

Merlin nods. "Anything worth being blackmailed for. Someone goes to see him for anxiety or what-have-you, confesses to cheating on their spouse, and a month later receives a letter in the mail. Pay up, or have your secrets revealed."

"And no one puts it together because no one wants to talk about it," Harry says.

"We want you to go in there as DeVere," Arthur says. "Make an appointment with Dr. Durand. You have stress, anxiety, anything you choose. Perhaps you've embezzled funds from your own company. I'll leave it to you to come up with the details."

"And then wait to see if I get blackmailed," Harry says.

Arthur nods. He turns to Eggsy, who is frankly wondering why he's even here. "You are to be Galahad's driver and escort. You will make the appointment at the clinic, and you will go there a few days ahead of time to check it out. You will be doing this at the request of your boss, Mr. DeVere, to make sure there is the privacy he requires."

Eggsy nods. He can do all that, sure.

"While you're there," Merlin says, "you will also place several microphones and cameras on the premises. If possible I'd like to get a look at their client files too, so we can compare their records with Fournier's known targets. I doubt you'll get the chance, but see what you can do." He frowns a little. "We can go over those details later."

It all sounds a bit boring, actually. Eggsy nods again and tries not to look let down. Not every mission can be exciting, after all. But he'll take even the most boring mission, because it means he gets to go out there with Harry, two Kingsman agents working together. This is all he had hoped for ever since the first day of his recruit training, back when he still thought he would eventually be Lancelot.

"During the actual appointment, Gawain will wait on stand-by," Arthur says. He glances briefly at Merlin. "In case anything should go wrong."

That makes Eggsy frown a little. What could possibly go wrong with something like this? "Of course," he says.

"Merlin has the file," Arthur says. "You'll want to get started right away." He looks at Eggsy. "Make the appointment as soon as you can."

That's it then. They're dismissed. Eggsy nods and stands up. He follows Harry out into the hall. "So," he says, "you gonna lay on the doc's sofa?" He drops his voice into a hideous parody of Sigmund Freud. " _Tell me about your muvver._ "

Harry smiles a little. "I rather doubt it." They set out down the hall. "I'm sure DeVere's contact information is all up to date, but I had better check on it."

Someone at Kingsman answers, of course, any time Henry DeVere's fake company gets a phone call. Or an e-mail. Mail sent to the physical address listed for his corporation is retrieved by a Kingsman employee. If Fournier decides DeVere is worth blackmailing, Kingsman will know it soon enough.

"We'll have to put you on the payroll, of course," Harry says. He gives Eggsy that fond smile that never fails to make something inside him go all warm and melty. "My driver and assistant."

Suddenly inspired, Eggsy says, "Maybe it's me. Hidden love affair with the chauffeur. I'm the big dark secret you gotta confess."

Harry tilts his head a little, acknowledging the idea. "That's a thought."

They're just rounding the corner and about to head down the stairs to the shop below when Eggsy hears Merlin call out from behind them. "Harry. Wait."

They stop walking. There's a moment when Eggsy feels – not worry, no, because just then he doesn't know there's anything to be worried about. Irritation, maybe, at being interrupted. Impatience, because he's ready to get on with the mission, and clearly so is Harry, and he doesn't want anything to stand in their way.

Merlin walks toward them, carrying his clipboard. His expression is set, grim and determined. Eggsy hasn't seen him look this way since he climbed on board the Kingsman jet with Roxy in the hopes of averting global catastrophe at the hands of Richmond Valentine.

"Harry," Merlin says, "there's something you need to know about Dr. Durand. He is a psychologist, yes, but he specializes in hypnotherapy."

With just that one word, everything changes. Eggsy grows first hot all over, then cold. No. No way. No _fucking_ way.

Next to him, Harry has gone very pale. But his voice remains steady as he says, "Understood."

Eggsy shakes his head. This ain't happening. Not after the church and everything that happened there. He doesn't know what the fuck is wrong with Arthur, thinking this is a good idea, but it is _not_ on. "What the fuck? They can't make you do this."

"No one is 'making me' do anything," Harry replies. He still looks calm enough, but Eggsy can see the truth in his eyes now, and he knows Harry is afraid. "I have a job to do, and I will do it. That is what it means to be a Kingsman."

"Fuck that," Eggsy snaps. Oh, he's heard that talk before, about a Kingsman and his duty, how their personal feelings should never interfere with the mission – and he doesn't give a flying fuck. He's ready to stalk right back into that dining room and tell Arthur to shove this mission up his arse.

"I'll do it," he says.

They both look at him, Merlin with sympathy, Harry with heartbreaking confusion, like he's still so dazed he can't quite process what Eggsy just said.

"I'll go," Eggsy says. He looks directly at Merlin; if he has to see that fear in Harry's eyes one more second he's gonna do something he'll seriously end up regretting.

"You can't," Merlin says gently. "I thought of that, too, but it won't work. You don't have a cover that's established enough, or rich enough. You wouldn't make a good target. I doubt you could even get an appointment with Durand."

He knows that's true, but _fuck_ , there's no way he can let this happen. He just can't.

"I have strongly suggested to Arthur that another agent take this mission," Merlin says. He puts just enough stress on _strongly_ that Eggsy realizes in a flash that they must have been arguing about it before the meeting. That's why he thought Merlin seemed so uncomfortable, sitting there as far away from Arthur as he could get. "He has said he will consider it."

Merlin stiffens his spine. "But if not, I will be there," he says. He looks at Harry. "I'll be right there with you the whole time."

"No," Harry says, surprising them both. He turns to Eggsy. "If I'm to do this, I want it to be Eggsy." He pauses. "If he agrees, that is."

Eggsy swallows hard. He feels sick to his stomach to think about Harry in some stranger's office, giving himself up to another violation of his mind, putting himself in someone's control.

He's never been anyone's handler before. He didn't even know it could be done from the field. But whether it's feasible or not doesn't matter. All he knows is that Harry needs him.

And he will never be able to say no to Harry.

"Sure," he says. It's hard not to reach out for him just then. "Yeah. Of course. Whatever you need." _Anything, love. Everything._

"I'd start your preparations," Merlin says. "But don't make that appointment just yet."

Eggsy nods firmly. There's no way he's making that call. He doesn't care what Arthur says.

Merlin hesitates a moment, then he turns and walks away, back toward the dining room. Maybe he's going to try one more time to convince Arthur to give the mission to someone else. Eggsy feels kind of bad then. He knows Harry and Merlin have been friends for ages, and it probably meant a lot to Merlin to volunteer to be there with him during the hypnosis session. It was the only thing he could do to show his support.

Except Harry doesn't want him there. He just wants Eggsy.

And guilty conscience or no, Eggsy isn't planning on changing Harry's mind.

He looks over at Harry and his anger swells. It ain't right, it ain't fucking _right_. "We should go, yeah?"

"Yes," Harry says faintly. His eyes have gone slightly glazed. He's not really here anymore, Eggsy realizes. He's going back there, back to that blood-soaked church.

There's always been some question about just how much Harry remembers of that day. Memory loss is common with head trauma, and it doesn't get much more traumatic than being shot in the head at point blank range, even if the glasses did take most of the damage. Harry himself never talks about it, although he must have said enough to satisfy his doctors, because he was released without any restrictions on his status as an agent.

But he must remember some of it. Surely he must. And right now it's very obvious that he's thinking about it.

Cautiously Eggsy reaches out. He hesitates a second, then rests his hand on Harry's arm. "You okay?"

Harry jerks back, one hand rising in a fist. It's a completely instinctive reaction, and one that Eggsy pretty much expected.

"Let's go," he says quietly. He exerts the tiniest bit of pressure on Harry's arm and tries to get his racing heart back under control. It's the sight of that closed fist, he knows. Knows and absolutely fucking hates it, this knee-jerk response to something that isn't even a threat to himself. This time, at least.

Harry doesn't move. For a terrible moment Eggsy thinks he won't be able to, that he's already lost, gone back to that sunny day in Kentucky. Then he sort of flinches a little, and his eyes clear. He looks at Eggsy, then at his raised fist, and the blood drains from his face. "Eggsy. I didn't—"

"It's okay," Eggsy hurries to say, mostly because he can't bear the idea of Harry feeling guilty for frightening him, never mind that a part of him really _was_ frightened. "It's nothing, we're cool, let's just…let's just go, yeah?"

They should probably take the train to HQ and head to the library to start their research. Instead Eggsy takes them down the stairs and through the shop. There are no clients today, and nobody is browsing the selection of tweeds and woollens. Nobody notices as they walk out into the cold January day.

It's barely four o'clock but already it's getting dark out. They walk down the pavement toward home, Eggsy glancing over at Harry every so often. He doesn't like the distant look in Harry's eyes, or the way he holds himself so rigidly, like each step is somehow hurting him.

They don't speak. They don't stop, either, even though just this morning they had agreed to get takeaway from a little restaurant that's on the way home. They just walk through the growing dark, a cold wind whipping at their coats and undoing the careful styling of their hair. Twice Eggsy starts to say something, then changes his mind. Once he actually reaches for his glasses, meaning to activate them and ask if Merlin had any luck persuading Arthur to give the mission to someone else, but then he lowers his hand back to his side again.

When they get home, Eggsy turns on all the lights. Living room, dining room, kitchen. He floods the house with light, even hitting the switch for the upstairs hall as he passes by the stairs. "Drink?"

He's already at the sideboard, glass in hand. But Harry surprises him. "No," he says. "I don't think that would be a very good idea right now."

Eggsy looks over at him, standing just inside the living room like he's never been here before and is unsure where to go. His hair is tossed about, and his cheeks are red from the wind, but beneath that false cheer, he is still very pale.

It's too much. Eggsy crosses the room swiftly and goes right up to him. "Hey," he says. It's all he can think to say. "Hey."

Harry looks down at him. Eggsy has never seen him cry, never even seen him in tears. There are nights when neither one of them sleeps well, when the terrors in their dreams keeps them awake, but even on those nights he can't honestly say that he's ever seen Harry truly scared before.

Until now.

It tears him apart. He wants to fly back there to Savile Row and demand that Arthur change his mind. Fuck, he wants to go even further back, to that day in June when everything went to hell, when he and Harry said those awful things to each other, when he thought he had just watched Valentine murder Harry in cold blood. He wants to take away that terrible fear lurking in Harry's eyes, even though he knows such a thing is not possible. He knows too well how fear settles in your bones and makes itself right at home, no matter how hard you resist.

But he also knows that he loves Harry. And he knows that love is stronger than fear. Love kept him in that house with Dean and his drugs and his fists long after fear should have driven him away. Love held him at his mother's side, turned him into a shield for her and Daisy when he couldn't even protect himself.

So he does the only thing he can do just then. He opens his arms and he hugs Harry with all his strength. Harry stiffens up at first, long enough for Eggsy to think he's going to break the embrace and refuse all comfort, but then he sort of slumps, and his arms encircle Eggsy in return.

"You'll be okay," Eggsy says quietly. "And I'll be there with you."

Harry doesn't answer. But he doesn't let go of Eggsy, either.

The silence is uneasy. Eggsy can hear the clock over the mantel ticking, and JB sighing once from where he lies in his tartan doggy bed. Even with all the lights on, it seems too dark in here. Eggsy holds Harry close and doesn't dare to move, not to rub his back, not to turn his head and press a soft kiss to Harry's cheek.

They're still standing there like that when both their glasses emit the soft chime of an incoming message from Merlin. "Galahad. Gawain. I'm pleased to say that Arthur has decided to give this mission to Tristan. You won't be needed."

"Oh, thank fuck," Eggsy breathes.

In his arms, Harry makes a single sound, a choked exhale that very nearly sounds like a sob.

Eggsy doesn't say a word. He just stands there, holding on with all he's got.

****

In bed that night, curled up against each other, Harry says quietly, "I don't think it would have worked anyway."

Eggsy glances at him; in the dark he can't see much. He goes more by touch, the warm weight of Harry's head on his shoulder, the long line of Harry's leg pressed against his own. "What do you mean?"

"A person can't be hypnotized against their will," Harry says. "I very much doubt I could have allowed it."

Eggsy turns his head on the pillow so he can kiss Harry's forehead. "Yeah."

He knows they probably could have pulled it off anyway. Harry could have easily lied and behaved as though he were under hypnosis, spilling his false secrets to the doctor and making himself a target for blackmail. But now he won't have to pretend, won't have to actively fight against someone else taking over his mind. He's been spared this much, at least.

It's not going to be a good night. Eggsy knows that already. They'll get a couple hours of sleep, then the nightmares will return, those dreams of blood and death that they don't share with each other despite everything they have in common.

But it'll be okay. Because they're here together. They don't have to go through it alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Eggsy's coat is the one Taron wore during the China press tour for Eddie the Eagle](http://media.gettyimages.com/photos/welsh-actor-taron-egerton-and-australia-actor-hugh-jackman-attend-a-picture-id514484096)


	4. February

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What Eggsy does here is a thing someone did for me once. I've always remembered it and wanted to use it in a story, and at last I had my chance.

_When I come home, yes I know I'm gonna be_  
_I'm gonna be the man who comes back home with you_

 

Eggsy goes off to Belgium on the fourth of February, and everything in Harry's life pretty much falls apart after that.

He hasn't been sleeping well since the mission that wasn't, and the looming threat of hypnosis. His sleep is haunted by dreams of what happened in that church. He wakes up with his heart pounding, blood hot in his mouth and sticky on his hands. He hates it, hates the struggle to hide it from Eggsy, even though he knows it's pointless because of course Eggsy is fully aware of what's happening.

It's worse, though, when Eggsy isn't here.

He didn't sleep at all last night. He was up late doing research for the mission Arthur handed him yesterday afternoon. Usually this is not a problem; he's found as he gets older that he requires less sleep. Instead he lay awake for hours, and when he did finally fall asleep it was only to find himself surrounded by blood and slaughter. This time it was the version of the dream that includes Eggsy, blue eyes pleading with him to _stand down, please, Harry, please just stand down._

He woke with the gunshot still ringing in his ears and his chest hurting so badly that for a moment he wondered if he was having a heart attack. He scrambled out of bed and stood with one hand clutching the footboard of the bed, shuddering all over.

That was an hour ago, though. He feels like himself again, a long hot shower having helped clear his head. Dressing in the suit always helps, too, a physical reassurance of putting on armor and getting ready for the day ahead.

He goes downstairs and immediately stops dead. Eggsy's black hoodie is on the floor. And JB, naughty thing that he is, skulks nearby with the guilty look that only a dog can achieve.

Sighing heavily, Harry walks over and picks up the hoodie. There's a ragged hole in one sleeve where JB has been busy at work. Clearly at some point during the night he pulled it down from where it was hanging over the back of the couch and started chewing on it.

Harry glares at the dog. He's torn between being pissed off and a certain smug triumph. How many times has he pleaded with Eggsy to just hang the fucking thing up already? It serves him right to have it destroyed.

But immediately he feels guilty for such thoughts. This is Eggsy's, one of his favorite possessions, too, judging by how often he wears it. And now it's ruined.

He settles for wagging a finger at JB. "Bad dog. Very bad dog."

JB pants up at him, as unrepentant as, well, as Harry himself usually is when he's scolded.

He takes the dog out, then comes back inside only to discover that the coffeemaker won't work. He resists the urge to bash it against the counter and just sighs again.

It's a cold but clear day, and Harry takes his time walking to Savile Row. He won't admit to himself that he's hoping for a text from Eggsy. But his phone remains silent, to his disappointment.

There is a customer in the shop, talking with Kay over a selection of fabrics. Kay doesn't even look up at him, but behind the counter Andrew says, "He's waiting for you, sir."

Arthur is seated in the dining room, a coffee cup beside him and a glower on his face. "Might I remind you," Arthur says testily, "that some of us have a schedule to keep and actually plan to _keep it_." He gives Harry the same glare that Harry gave to JB earlier. "Chester may have indulged your tardiness, Galahad, but I will not."

There is nothing to say that won't get him in trouble, so Harry just ignores this. He sits down, trying not to stare covetously at Arthur's coffee cup. "What do you have for me?"

"We've had to move up our plans," Arthur says. "They're meeting today, apparently."

So much for the luxury of time, Harry thinks. He had been given the mission with the understanding that he had a week in which to prepare. Well, it's certainly not the first time that his plans have been scuppered, and he doubts it will be the last.

Within the hour he's on the road, driving to Southampton. The weather is pleasant and he finally got his coffee, but Harry is in no mood to appreciate it. He still hasn't heard from Eggsy, and the silence has him on edge. He knows Eggsy can take care of himself, but he still worries. On top of the lack of sleep, the anxiety has him feeling all strung up inside, like he's a poor fit for his own body today. Worse, he can feel the headache wanting to start behind his left eye, the dull pain that will build all day and only release him later tonight – if he's lucky.

The shortened timetable means he is going into this blind, with no chance yet to establish any kind of cover or even take the lay of the land. On the other hand, it means no one knows he is coming, so he can move about with relative freedom. He arrives in Southampton posing as a clueless tourist, and sets off immediately to see the sights.

It's a long afternoon. There are people everywhere, pushy and rude and seemingly intent on ruining everyone else's day. If Eggsy were here, they would be working together, so focused on the mission that they would be unaffected by the rudeness around them. But Eggsy is somewhere else, so Harry just grits his teeth and soldiers on with the job.

After a couple hours, he stops in a sandwich shop for something to eat, and immediately regrets it. The line is nearly to the door, and the place is packed. The kid in front of him is wearing a huge rucksack and can't seem to stand still; he keeps swaying backward, bumping into Harry with the pack. When they're almost at the counter, the kid shrugs the pack off and it lands with a heavy thump on Harry's foot. It doesn't hurt, but that's hardly the point. He kicks the rucksack off and has a brief but very strong urge to bang his heels together and kick the kid too, blade extended.

The kid himself doesn't even realize what happened, doesn't apologize.

After lunch, which is so tasteless he barely eats half of it, Harry heads to SeaCity Museum. It's crowded with tourists like himself, so he doesn't stand out too much, even in a bespoke suit. While he's there he takes plenty of pictures – which just so happen to include the meeting of two people Kingsman suspects are foreign spies.

The pictures taken, he follows his targets for a little while, pretending to study the exhibits. The two maybe-spies split up before the exit, and Harry follows the one they are least sure about. The man gets into a cab outside the museum and leaves. Harry makes note of the cab company and the number of the car; later he'll find a way to learn the destination of the passenger.

For now, his job is done. He saw nothing overtly suspicious, just two gentlemen strolling through a museum, discussing the exhibits. Even the gift of a cigarette would seem perfectly normal, except for the fact that there is quite obviously no smoking in the museum, nor did the man who received it smoke it once they went outside.

Harry heads back to his car and starts the long drive back. His headache is in full swing by now, and all he wants is to get home and have a drink. If Eggsy were here, he could hand over the keys with a grateful smile. But there have been no messages from Eggsy all day, which only adds to his worry. He knows it's fine, Eggsy is probably not in a position right now to be sending texts to anyone, but the prolonged silence just adds to the tension stringing him out.

If anything ever happened to Eggsy, he would never forgive himself.

It's late by the time he gets back to London, and by then Harry is ready to write the day off as a complete loss. He's in a foul mood, thanks to the lack of sleep and the unending string of petty annoyances throughout the day that have piled up without relenting. The final straw is the London traffic, which made the drive home feel like it was never going to end. Twice he was cut off by rude drivers as though his car were invisible, and while the Kingsman cars are formidable in their own way, the last time he checked they were still _plainly_ visible, thank you very much.

He's in no mood to walk home from the shop, so he simply drives back to Stanhope Mews. There isn't really anywhere to park on the narrow street, and the neighbors won't be pleased, but he's done it before, and they've learned not to complain. At least, not to his face.

It's much colder out than it was this morning. Tomorrow won't be near as pleasant as today. Harry slams the car door, then winces. The throbbing in his temple and around his eye is the worst it's ever been, a legacy of Valentine's bullet he simply has to deal with as best he can.

As soon as he lets himself inside, he shuts the door behind him and then just stands there in the dark. He sets the heel of his hand on the hard ridge of bone above his eye and presses, trying vainly to just _push_ the pain out of his skull. Alone, where there is no one to hear, he lets himself groan quietly out loud, but just the once. Anything else is self-indulgent and pointless, and he knows it.

Wearily he turns on the lights. He steps forward and then crinkles up his nose. The smell gives it away even before he sees the puddle of urine on the floor in the kitchen. Anger is swift to come, but just as quick is the guilt. It's not poor JB's fault. It's his own damn fault for being gone so long today.

He lets the dog out, dumps food in his dish, cleans up the puddle in the kitchen, then starts to turn on the coffeemaker before remembering that it doesn't work. With a loud sigh, Harry pushes at the bridge of his glasses, activating them. "Merlin."

"Yes," Merlin says after a pause.

"I'm going out," Harry says tightly. "I'm going to get very drunk, and I would appreciate some bloody privacy. Unless you've got a bomb in need of dismantling, I don't want to hear a single peep from you tonight."

Merlin sounds a bit taken aback. "Bad day?"

"Christ," Harry swears. He's already headed for the front door; he never even took his coat off.

"Understood," Merlin says with sympathy. He doesn't ask for the details, just says, "Have one for me."

"Not bloody likely," Harry snaps.

****

It's quite late when he gets home the second time. He's had maybe one too many, but he can still walk a perfectly straight line. Either his headache is starting to ease up or the alcohol has done its work, because his head doesn't seem to hurt as much anymore; he's actually giving serious thought to having something for dinner. 

He pulls up short on the front step, however. There is a sign taped to the door. Just an ordinary sheet of white paper, but written on it in Eggsy's attempt at neat handwriting are the words: _Café Unwin Open For Business._

Eggsy is home.

Or he is meant to think so.

Harry unbuttons his jacket, making it easier to reach for the gun in his shoulder holster, should it become necessary. He stands on the porch for a moment, listening for sounds coming from inside the house that might provide a clue about what he's dealing with. But there is nothing. No music, no telly, no JB barking.

Tense and ready for anything, Harry pulls the sign down and opens the door.

It's only been a few hours since he left, but the house has been transformed. A fire burns in the living room. Fresh flowers sit in a vase on the end table beside the couch. The warm and welcome scents of an inviting dinner drift on the air.

And just inside the door, Eggsy stands waiting, dressed in a black tuxedo.

"May I take your coat, sir?" Eggsy asks. He speaks in his very best posh accent. "Get you a drink?"

"When did you get back?" Harry asks. He had no idea Eggsy's mission was going to wrap up early. No texts, no phone call, just radio silence all day. Nothing to say Eggsy was coming home a day ahead of schedule.

"I'm sorry?" Eggsy says. His expression is carefully blank. "Your coat, sir?"

"Eggsy." Harry looks around, seeing again the fire on the hearth, the flowers, the way the living room has been tidied. "What is happening here?"

"You came in to the café," says Eggsy. "I assume you're here for dinner." He maintains that perfect straight face the whole time.

Suddenly Harry gets it. He feels monumentally stupid then, a slow, tired old man who's had one too many tonight. "Ah."

"May I get your coat?" Eggsy asks again. His lips twitch this time as he tries to hide a smile. He's freshly shaved and his eyes are that soft color in between blue and green. Harry wants very badly to kiss him.

"Yes, thank you," he murmurs. He lets Eggsy help him out of his coat. "A martini would be lovely."

"And how would you like it?" Eggsy asks, still the professional maitre'd. 

"Gin," Harry says. He inhales deeply, savoring the rich smells from the kitchen. The heavy scent of urine is gone; Eggsy must have done a better job of cleaning up than he did.

"Very good," Eggsy says, still in that crisp, posh accent. He bows a little, extending his arm. "If you would follow me, sir."

The dining room has been set for a formal dinner. Silver gleams beneath the chandelier, and there is a new centerpiece amid all the china and crystal, a skeletal winter tree bedecked with tiny golden fairy lights.

"Dinner will be ready in a few minutes," Eggsy says as he mixes the martini. "If sir would care to freshen up first?" He trails off delicately, managing to suggest that Harry could use a long hot shower.

"Thank you," Harry says. He goes into the loo and notices that everything in here has been recently cleaned. Even Mr. Pickle seems freshly dusted. He washes his face and hands, shoots his cuffs, and resettles the knot in his tie. Eggsy's gone to all this trouble for him; the least he can do is make all that hard work mean something.

His bad mood, he realizes, is all but gone.

By the time he re-enters the dining room, dinner is on the table. The roast is cooked to perfection and the bread is crusty and warm. The vegetables are swimming in butter and there is a bottle of red wine set on the sideboard.

Harry looks at all of it and the last of the day's tension melts from his shoulders. He watches Eggsy pull his chair out and wait for him, and he feels ridiculously small then. For the life of him he can't think of a single thing he's ever done to deserve this wonderful young man.

"Thank you," he says as he takes his seat.

Eggsy gives him that faint little bow again. "Of course."

"Will you be joining me?" Harry asks.

"No, sir," Eggsy replies. "I believe you have a party who will be joining you shortly."

"Very good," Harry says. "Please tell him I can't wait to see him."

"I will be sure to do that," Eggsy says, and though he maintains the accent, he can't quite hide the smile this time.

He disappears into the living room, and Harry is left alone to survey the dinner that's been laid out. He's pretty certain Eggsy didn't cook any of it himself, but that's hardly the point. The point is that his dear Eggsy did all this for him. Probably Merlin had let it slip that he was having a bad day, and so Eggsy had decided to do something about it.

It's very creative, he has to admit. He's always been one for big romantic gestures in his past relationships, hoping they would make up for the long absences, the unexplained silences, the excuses that got more and more flimsy over time. But he never thought of doing something like this. He has to hand it to Eggsy: he's impressed.

Eggsy returns to the table, this time with his natural gait. He smiles and walks right up to where Harry is sitting. He leans in, puts one hand on the back of Harry's neck, and kisses him.

Harry set a hand on his back, holding him in place. That kiss is everything he's been missing since Eggsy left. It's warm breath and a welcome touch, and a reminder that there are still some good things in this world.

"Hi," Eggsy says, his forehead tipped against Harry's.

"Hello, dear," Harry says.

Eggsy smiles a little, then stands up. Harry lets him go, his hand falling to his lap. "You're back early."

"Yeah." Eggsy makes a little grimace as he sits down. "Things got a little…intense…this morning. So I got done early."

"I'm glad," Harry says. He can't bring himself to say _I missed you_ out loud, but he hopes Eggsy knows it's true.

"Heard you had kind of a bad day," Eggsy says.

It's an invitation of sorts, and he very nearly accepts. It would be so simple to tell it all to Eggsy, to just let it all out, all the aggravation of a day where nothing went right. But somehow he can't do it. Everything has been so wonderful since he opened that door and realized Eggsy had come home early. He doesn't want to ruin it with his churlish complaints.

So he simply says, "Yes. It's much improved now, however."

Eggsy grins. "I bet." He gestures at the food. "Go on, then. I'm starvin'."

Dinner turns out to taste as wonderful as it smells. Harry goes easy on it all, though, knowing from past experience that too much food does not mix well with his headache plus the alcohol he's already had. "This was a delightful idea," he says. "Where did you think of it?"

"Yeah," Eggsy says, and he flushes a little. "Wasn't my idea exactly. Rox told me about it a while ago. Something one of her girlfriends did for her. I been meanin' to try it myself, and it seemed like a good time for it."

"It was," Harry assures him. The fact that it wasn't Eggsy's idea after all only makes the whole evening more endearing. It means Eggsy held onto the idea all his time, remembering it and waiting for his chance to try it.

"Yeah?" Sitting there in his tuxedo, which he must have put on after spending a couple hours hastily cleaning the house and getting dinner together, he looks pleased with himself. He also looks incredibly sexy.

"Thought after dinner we could go upstairs," Eggsy says. He winks.

Harry hesitates. There is no denying how good Eggsy looks right now. Sex might even be exactly what he needs to finally get a good night's sleep. But it's been a long day and his head is still aching and he has serious doubts about his ability to perform.

" 'Cause I was thinkin'," Eggsy says, "remember after that thing in Berlin, when I was all stressed out and you was gettin' annoyed with me?"

He starts to protest, because he hadn't been _annoyed_ at Eggsy, exactly. More like impatient. But that's hardly any better, so he holds his tongue.

"And you made me sit down and you started rubbing my shoulders and it really fucking hurt," Eggsy says. "But in the end it worked. I even got to sleep that night, and I didn't think that was gonna happen."

"Yes," Harry says, remembering. "I believe you drooled on me, too."

Eggsy grimaces. "Thanks for that."

"If it makes you feel any better," he says honestly, "I didn't mind."

Eggsy groans. "Not helping."

Now it's Harry's turn to hide a smile, his first real one of the day.

"Right," Eggsy says. "You go upstairs." He gestures to the table and the remains of their dinner. "I got this."

"Nonsense," Harry says. "It will go much faster with two."

" _No_ ," Eggsy says firmly. "I got it. Seriously. Just...just go, would ya?" He shakes his head. "You make it really fucking hard to pamper you, you know that?"

Rather taken aback, Harry doesn't know what to say at first. He can't think of a time in his life when someone wanted to, well, do as Eggsy just said. After that first shock, though, he feels enormously guilty, which is almost certainly not the effect Eggsy wanted, but then again, very little about this day has gone according to plan. 

"All right," he finally says. He takes his napkin off his lap and sets it on the table. "Thank you, Eggsy. For everything." He knows it's not enough, but he has no idea what one is supposed to say on an occasion such as this.

He heads upstairs, listening to the sound of dishes clinking as Eggsy starts to clean up. He moves past his office, where in a week or so he'll have a new headline to hang up. His head still hurts and his stomach is vaguely unsettled from all that food, but his spirits are light. All those aggravating things about the day have faded into insignificance.

None of it means anything, not really. The rude people, Arthur's scolding, the ugly dreams. It's all meaningless shit that can only affect him if he lets it.

He takes a quick shower, brushes his teeth, and gets in his pyjamas. By the time he's finished, Eggsy is just walking in. He's removed the tuxedo jacket and his tie, and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt.

"You should come to bed every night wearing a tuxedo," Harry says. 

Eggsy stops and holds out his arms. "Yeah?" He smiles, relaxed and happy and devastatingly handsome. "I'll have to remember that."

And he will, too. Like Harry, Eggsy is the kind of person who files away comments like that. He remember things about people. It's a very necessary skill for a spy, but it serves him even better at home.

Eggsy walks over and gives him a kiss. He plucks at the pyjama top. "Off with this, then lay down, love."

With no reason not to, Harry complies. He wants to tell Eggsy that he doesn't need to do anything else, that it's enough just to have him back home. Instead he shifts around until he gets comfortable, then he closes his eyes.

"Good," Eggsy says, and kisses him again. 

Eggsy's hands are warm and strong, coaxing the tension from his shoulders. It does hurt a little at first, but as he relaxes and the knots in his muscles unwind, it feels good enough that Harry groans in quiet contentment.

Eggsy leans down and kisses the back of his neck. Then again on the flat of his shoulder. And again over the scar left from the knife wound he got in the church. He moves down, littering warm kisses over Harry's back. "Fucking love you."

"So romantic," Harry murmurs. 

He can feel the curve of Eggsy's lips against his skin. "Shhh. No talking."

He's falling asleep. He hopes there will be no dreams tonight, nothing to ruin this amazing evening. 

"I'm sorry about your hoodie," he says. 

Eggsy kisses the soft spot beneath his ear. "It's okay. I know these pretty amazing tailors. They can fix anything."

Silence envelops them. Harry breathes out deeply. He feels more relaxed and comfortable than he has in days, since even before Eggsy left for Belgium. More than food, more than a massage, more than sex, this is what he needs. Just this quiet, with Eggsy beside him where he belongs.

He's almost asleep when he suddenly remembers. He doesn't open his eyes, though. He just mumbles, "There's no coffee."

"What?" Eggsy sounds truly puzzled.

" 's broken," Harry says.

There's a pause while Eggsy puts it together. Then, "Son of a bitch."

"Mm-hmm," Harry agrees sleepily.

Eggsy stretches out beside him. There's a warm kiss to his temple, where the scar is and the last of his headache is finally winding down. "Don't worry about it. We'll deal with it tomorrow."

Even humming requires too much energy. Harry kind of exhales his agreement. Tomorrow. Yes.

****

When he wakes up, he's slept the entire night through. Eggsy is asleep beside him, mouth hanging open, hair standing up.

Harry smiles. It's going to be a good day.


	5. March

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a blink-and-you-miss it crossover in this chapter. :-)

_Things happen_  
_That's all they ever do_

 

Everyone says he's not the first one to do it, but that doesn't take away the humiliation when Eggsy gets sent home the first week in March with an ugly, bulky cast on his leg. He's not to put any weight on the injured leg for at least a week, at which point he's got to come back for another X-ray.

At home he sits on the couch with his broken ankle propped on a pillow and complains. Harry brings him meals and coffee from the shiny new coffeemaker, and anything else he can think of. He hauls himself to the toilet on crutches, but at night Harry carries him up the stairs and to bed. He laces his hands behind Harry's neck and threatens him with bodily harm if he bumps his cast against the wall. With the patience of a saint, Harry merely says, "Yes, dear," and sets him on the bed.

A week later the cast comes off and he "graduates" to an even uglier boot he has to wear. Technically he's allowed to put weight on his foot now, but he's not really supposed to just yet. In the morning he sits on the edge of the bed and complains while Harry wraps the boot in a bin bag and tapes the plastic in place so it doesn't get wet when Eggsy wobbles on one foot in the shower.

He's cranky, hungry all the time for reasons he can't explain, and his ankle hurts like a motherfucker.

All in all, it's not one of his finest weeks.

****

On the ninth day, though, he wakes up and it's like the dark cloud that's been hanging over him ever since he leaped off that balcony in Marseilles and broke his ankle has finally dissipated. The pain is tolerable now, and he feels more like himself than he has in days.

He sits on the edge of the bed and watches Harry work, gently pulling the bag into place and wrapping it around the ugly boot cast. Today he doesn't complain, or just wish that Harry would hurry up and get the humiliation over with. Today he watches Harry's hands as they tape the bag in place –- hands that kill without hesitation, but that always touch Eggsy with kindness.

He looks at Harry, the way he's down on one knee, the way his hair falls over his forehead in thick curls, the long lines of his body beneath the blue striped pyjamas. And he is suddenly almost overwhelmed by a wrenching feeling of love and affection.

Honest to God, it fucking _hurts._

Sometimes he genuinely can't believe that he's here, that he's in this house, that he's in Kingsman, that he's a part of Harry Hart's life. It seems so unreal. He's done absolutely nothing in his life to deserve any of this.

But here he is all the same. And whether or not he deserves any of it, this is what he has. And he looks at Harry right now and his heart tries to squeeze its way into his throat, and he suddenly feels an enormous weight roll off his shoulders. So he mistimed his jump off that balcony and broke his ankle. Yeah, it was a fucking stupid thing to do, but it's not the end of the world. He's not the first, as they've told him, and he certainly won't be the last. And even if he is, so what? Nobody else cares, nobody else is making a big deal out of it.

By the time Harry is done, Eggsy's booted and bagged foot resting on his thigh, Eggsy is practically back to his old self again. He looks at Harry and says, "You know, I could get used to this, being waited on hand and foot."

Harry gazes at him with those rich brown eyes. "Oh dear," he says, so calm they might be discussing the weather. "Look who's back."

Eggsy flushes a little at this reminder of how shitty he's been to him this past week. "Yeah, well."

"I was beginning to wonder," Harry says. "I was going to give you until tonight before I resorted to drastic measures."

"Like what?" Eggsy asks. Although he's not so sure he wants to know.

"I was planning to suck your cock until you couldn't take it anymore and you begged me to let you come," Harry says. Still down on one knee, still in that perfectly mild tone.

Eggsy chokes. All the blood in his body suddenly rushes to his cock, reminding him that it's been over nine days since it got any attention. "Jesus fucking Christ."

Harry gives him a rather self-satisfied smile, then smoothly rises to his feet. "You should take your shower now."

"Yeah," Eggsy retorts. "A _cold_ one."

"That is entirely up to you," Harry says, and now he's practically smirking. He aims a pointed look at Eggsy's lap, where a rising bulge exists that wasn't there just thirty seconds ago. "Although I would venture to suggest that it's probably not a bad idea."

"You don't have to wait until tonight," Eggsy offers, the very soul of generosity. He leans back a little on the bed in what he hopes is a clear invitation.

"Tempting," Harry says dryly, "but I'm already going to be late, and you need to take your shower."

"Oh come off it," Eggsy says, feeling a momentary return to the peevish state that's held him in its grip for the last week. "You like gettin' to use me as your excuse for being late."

"I admit it has its uses," Harry says calmly. He walks toward the bedroom door, still in his pyjamas, graciously letting Eggsy use the shower first while he's still here to help out, never mind that because of it he's been getting to HQ much later than even his usual tardy hour.

Eggsy watches him go and sighs heavily. Well, at least he can say he tried.

****

That night he hobbles up the stairs beside Harry. He leans heavily on Harry's arm, trying not to put all his weight on his injured leg. By the time they reach the top of the stairs, he feels out of breath. "Fuck."

"Does it hurt?" Harry asks. 

"No more'n usual," Eggsy says glumly. It's just hit him for the first time that he's going to be terribly out of shape by the time he's able to walk around normally again. He'll be weeks in the gym before he's fit to go back into the field. 

"Just a little farther," Harry encourages. Lately he's been driving to Southampton and back almost on a daily basis. It's exhausting for him, and though he doesn't really complain, Eggsy is pretty sure that he's sick of it.

"I know," he grumbles. He can feel his bad mood wanting to slink back. He's got half a mind to let it, too.

He fumbles around getting ready for bed. He feels stupid and clumsy, like he's constantly on the verge of tilting to one side and falling over. The huge boot on his foot makes the bathroom feel too small; he has to actively avoid accidentally kicking anything.

But at last he's in bed, heaving his booted foot up onto the mattress. He lies flat on his back and watches Harry go through his nightly ritual of setting out his watch and ring for tomorrow. He likes this part of the evening, when the rigid styling is all but gone from Harry's hair, and his strong but slender wrists peek out from his pyjama cuffs.

Harry turns out the light and climbs into bed. Eggsy gives him a little bit to get situated, then says, "Seems I remember you sayin' something about sucking my cock tonight?"

He can actually hear Harry's answering smile. "So I did." He rolls toward Eggsy. "And a gentleman always keeps his word."

"Fucking right they do," Eggsy says.

Harry is indeed a man of his word. He lies between Eggsy's legs and uses his lips and tongue until Eggsy's panting a steady stream of obscenity. Two lubeslick fingers press deep inside him, stroking that spot that makes every muscle in his thighs tense and quiver. 

"Fuck," he gasps. "Oh fuck." With one hand he clutches the sheets; the other is tangled in Harry's hair. "Harry, oh _fuck_."

"Yes?" Harry sounds very satisfied with himself. He licks along the underside of Eggsy's cock, dragging his tongue wet and slow. 

Eggsy arches his back. "I can't..."

"I believe I promised you something else this morning," Harry says. He closes his lips about the tip of Eggsy's cock, swallowing the liquid pearled there. His fingers twist and press, and Eggsy gasps. 

He did. Eggsy remembers all too well. "Please," he says. He's on fire, right on the edge and desperate for the fall. "I need to come."

"Do you?" Harry pulls his fingers out almost all the way, then slowly sinks them back in.

"Ye-es," Eggsy stutters over the word, his whole body strung out and shuddering.

Harry places a short, sweet kiss on his leaking cock. "Then come for me, dearest."

****

Roxy comes over one afternoon to keep him company for a while and kick his ass at Mario Kart. She's really good at it, and she's seriously competitive. Eggsy's never seen anything like it; she's even worse than Jamal, who will spend hours cussing out anyone who blue-shells him.

He begs for surrender when his pride can't take another defeat, and they stop for lunch. Over hot soup and sandwiches, Roxy tells him that she's got a new girlfriend.

"Shut up!" Eggsy exclaims. He's real happy for her.

Roxy beams at him. She's so happy that Eggsy wishes it could always be like this. He hopes this girl is understanding when Roxy disappears for days or weeks at a time. He hopes she doesn't accuse Roxy of cheating on her or not being interested. He hopes she knows how awesome Roxy is and treats her right.

"What's her name?" he asks.

"Eve," says Roxy. "She works at the Treasury. And no, you don't get to meet her just yet."

"Oi!" Eggsy says, all offended.

"Not _yet_ , I said." Roxy shakes her head but can't help smiling.

Eggsy winks and grins at her. When he first met her, there was about thirty seconds where he gave some thought to going for it. He's glad that he never really seriously considered it, though. Roxy's one of his best friends – and he wouldn't want it any other way.

****

Merlin comes over on Wednesday, when Harry is gone again on the mission in Southampton. 

Eggsy's just finished with lunch, hobbling his way back into the living room when he hears the car pull up. His heart lifts and suddenly the day feels a hundred times brighter. He goes to the window and twitches the curtain aside. The black Kingsman car is parked just outside, but it's not Harry coming up the walk. It's Merlin.

Instantly everything changes. He feels cold all over, his heart a painful knot in his chest. All he can think is something must have happened to Harry, and Merlin's come to give him the bad news in person.

His hand gone numb, Eggsy lets go of the curtain. He backs away from the window. No. No. No.

He watches Merlin climb the steps. There is a pause, then a sharp knock on the door.

For a moment he has the crazy idea to lock the door and just not open it. If Merlin can't get in, can't say the words out loud and make him hear them, it won't be true.

But he can't refuse to open the door. Sooner or later he's got to hear the words, whether he lets Merlin in now or Roxy calls or God forbid, Arthur comes by with another fucking medal for him.

So he fumbles at the door, and he yanks it open. In awkward silence, they stand there and stare at each other. 

Then Merlin says, "I brought you the latest from Berlin," and Eggsy sees the box in his hand. All the breath leaves him in a rush. He doesn't clutch the doorframe -- but it's a near thing.

It's okay. Harry is fine. It's okay.

He leads the way inside, hoping Merlin will figure his somewhat unsteady gait is due to his ankle and not the scare he just suffered. As they enter the living room he remembers the manners he's supposed to have now. "Get you anything?"

"No, thank you," Merlin says. Over his jumper he's wearing a thick black coat, which he hangs in the hall. He moves through the house with the ease of familiarity, even though Eggsy's never seen him here before. 

The "latest from Berlin" turns out to be a false coin that's actually a weapon. Press the groove along the side and two blades shoot out. Whip it at your target and there's one less bad guy to worry about.

"You can practice with this one," Merlin says. He's sitting on the couch beside Eggsy; now he hands over the coin. "I thought you might be going a little stir crazy, stuck at home."

"You have no fucking idea," Eggsy says. He tosses the coin, careful when he catches it not to apply pressure to the hidden catch. "Thanks for this."

"It was my pleasure," Merlin says. He gives Eggsy a long look. "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah," Eggsy says, honestly puzzled. "You know, except for the part where I'm going stir crazy being stuck at home. Why?"

"You just looked like something was bothering you," Merlin says. 

It takes him a moment to realize what Merlin is talking about. Then it hits him, and he feels like a complete idiot. "Oh," he says. "Nah, it's fine. I just thought...when you showed up like that..." He shrugs like it's no big deal. "Thought you was here to deliver bad news or something."

"Ah," Merlin says. He looks at Eggsy kindly.

Under that look, Eggsy bristles. Yeah okay, it was stupid, but what the fuck was he supposed to think? Merlin rarely leaves HQ. Him showing up today isn't just unusual. It's unheard of. What reason could he possibly have had for coming out here?

And with that spooky ability he frequently has of reading people's minds, Merlin says, "I have to admit I had an ulterior motive in coming here."

Some of Eggsy's defensive attitude subsides then. "Yeah?"

"I've been asked to evaluate our training method for new recruits," Merlin says. "As the last one to go through the tests, I wanted to get your feedback."

Eggsy doesn't even hesitate; the words tumble from him without thought. "You mean like how fucked up it is that you make us shoot our dogs? Or making us think someone drowned in front of us? Those the tests you talking about?"

"Yes," Merlin says, perfectly calm. "Those tests."

"You ask Roxy too?" He's curious to know what she had to say. 

"Lancelot has already given me her feedback," says Merlin.

He'll have to ask her later, Eggsy thinks. They can compare notes and stuff. Not that he expects anything to actually change; he's found that when it comes to adapting to new things, Kingsman is all talk and very little action. 

"Why are you even doing this?" he asks. Besides the obvious answer that Arthur asked him to. But why even bother? "Planning to need a new knight soon?" 

It's meant to sound snarky. Instead it comes out almost pitiful, thoughts of Harry on his mind again.

"It's possible," Merlin says, and Eggsy could just throttle him, because the last thing he needs is a reminder that Harry might be in danger right now. "We have to be ready for such an event at any time."

Well, that much is certainly true. After all, nobody expected the former Lancelot to take it upon himself to go to Argentina and get his ass killed.

"But more likely," Merlin continues, "I expect Bors to retire soon. His complaints about his arthritis have reached an all-time high. Within a year I imagine we will have a seat open at the Round Table."

That's an interesting thought. Not too many Kingsman agents get to just retire, Eggsy reckons. He almost asks when was the last time that happened, then figures he's better off not knowing. He doesn't really want to know if the answer is _never._

"Yeah," he says. "Okay."

And he swears he doesn't plan on asking anything. The questions just pop out before he even knows what he's saying. "So was you and Harry in the same group? Did you go through the tests together?"

Immediately he winces. But Merlin takes him seriously. "No. Harry was already Galahad when I joined Kingsman."

"Oh," Eggsy says.

Merlin gazes into space, his eyes soft with memory. "In fact, Harry was the one who recruited me."

Eggsy is utterly delighted by this. "No fucking way."

"Oh yes," Merlin says. He smiles a little.

"I gotta hear this," Eggsy says.

"It's quite a tale," Merlin replies. 

Eggsy waves a hand at the room around them. "I got nothin' to do but sit around all day," he says. "I think I got the time."

So Merlin tells him the story of how he joined Kingsman. It's every bit as fascinating as Eggsy hoped, and he makes a mental note to tease Harry about it later tonight when he gets home.

But more than that, he's grateful for the insight into Harry and Merlin's friendship. It makes him think about that terrible day last June, and the grief Merlin must have felt during those dark hours when they all thought Harry was dead. But he had never let on, never let his personal feelings get in the way of the mission.

Except maybe he had, Eggsy thinks. _Kill him!_ Merlin had urged him as he faced Valentine, and it's just now, nine months later, that Eggsy realizes there might have been something very personal indeed in that command.

"I should be going," Merlin says. He stands up. 

"Yeah," Eggsy says. He feels kind of let down; there are so many other things he'd like to ask. So many questions he could never pose to Harry. He doesn't like to bring up the age difference between them, and he's pretty sure Harry feels the same way. Asking him about something that happened thirty years ago is just not going to happen.

But Merlin could tell him. Merlin probably has more stories tucked away than anyone can guess. And Merlin is safe. He's a friend.

"Practice with that coin," Merlin says. "It takes some time to get used to the weight."

Eggsy nods. He's already decided which tree in the back garden is going to serve as his target.

"And I hope to see you at HQ soon," Merlin says with a glance at his boot. 

"You and me both," Eggsy says with feeling.

****

In the morning he and Harry have a brief but heated argument. Harry says he'll stop at the supermarket on his way home and pick something up for dinner. Eggsy tries to give Harry his debit card, but Harry won't hear of it. "Nonsense. You're stuck at home all day."

"What the fuck does that have to do with anything?" Eggsy demands. 

Harry looks exasperated. "Just let me handle it," he says. 

Eggsy opens his mouth to reply, but before he can say anything, Harry's glasses chime. 

It turns out to be Merlin. Harry needs to get down to Southampton right away. Things are happening there. 

Harry says he will leave right now. He takes the glasses off, then sighs. "You're all right?" There's a pinched look around his eyes that says he's already got another headache, even though it's still early in the day. 

"Sure," Eggsy says. "Go. Just be careful, yeah?" No matter how many times they split up like this, each going their own way as the job demands, a part of him is always worried. He can never forget Kentucky, never completely ignore that terrible little voice inside that says _this might be the last time you ever see him._

Harry must feel the same way, because he gives Eggsy a lingering kiss, like he always does before they separate. "I will."

And that's Eggsy left alone again.

****

Apparently things get pretty interesting in Southampton. Certainly Harry has a more exciting Thursday than Eggsy does, sitting at home playing video games and texting back and forth with Ryan about this new girl he's met. He hobbles through the day and orders takeaway for lunch and is bored out of his fucking mind. 

It's raining and well after dark when Harry gets home. He stands in the doorway and shakes the worst of the water off his umbrella, then comes in and shuts the door.

Eggsy says, "You didn't go to the supermarket?"

"No," Harry says shortly. Despite the rain, he looks perfectly presentable; but his pocket square is missing.

"Everything go okay?" Eggsy asks, while wondering just what the fuck they're going to do about dinner.

"There are two less spies in England tonight," Harry says. He walks over to the crystal decanter on its silver tray behind the dining room table. And Eggsy sees right away how carefully he moves, and knows why. 

"What happened?" he says.

Harry pours himself a drink. "Let's just say they didn't go quietly."

Eggsy gets up from the couch and walks toward him, taking careful little steps so he doesn't mess up his ankle anymore than it already is. "You're hurt."

"I'm fine," Harry says. He drinks deeply from his glass. 

"Don't fucking lie to me," Eggsy says.

Harry sets his glass down with a sharp motion. "I am not _lying_ ," he snaps, "and I do not appreciate the accusation."

"You're hurt," Eggsy snaps right back. "That means you ain't _fine_. Trust me, I been sayin' that half my life and it's _always_ a fucking lie."

All the anger seems to drain out of Harry then. His shoulders go down and his eyes soften. "Eggsy. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well," he mutters. "You should be."

Harry's jaw tightens like he's on the verge of getting pissed off again. But when he walks over to Eggsy, he seems calm and more himself. 

"It really is nothing," Harry assures him. "No bones are broken. In a few days I'll be fine. You don't have to worry."

"I'll worry if I want," Eggsy says. He knows that sounds stupid, but he doesn't care. He's not quite ready to stand down just yet, especially seeing that gingerly way Harry is walking. "Same way you do. And anyway, that ain't the point."

"Then what is the point?" Harry asks. He smells like rain and outside, but also of the soap he favors. He obviously showered at HQ before coming home. Whatever happened in Southampton, it must have been bloody.

"I don't want us to do this," Eggsy says. "Hidin' shit from each other. Doin' what we do...it ain't like sitting in an office all day." He can't help but look at the scar that crosses Harry's temple. And with that, most of his anger finally dissipates. "I just want us to be honest. That's all."

He's so tired of lying. He's spent half his life using makeup to cover the bruises, lying to everybody about how he got them in the first place. Telling the world he was fine, thinking maybe if he said it often enough it might even be true.

"You're right," Harry says. "And I'm sorry."

It feels good to hug him, to know he's all right. Eggsy is careful, though, not applying too much pressure and stepping back the instant he feels Harry tense up in his arms. 

"We okay?"

"Yes," Harry says. He gives Eggsy a smile. 

It's not until later, when Harry takes his shirt off and Eggsy sees the ugly bruising over his ribs that he thinks to say, "So you on med leave now too? Gonna sit here with me all day and be bored?"

"Good Lord, no," Harry says, and Eggsy is sorely tempted to throw a pillow at him.

"However I do have good news for you," Harry continues. "Beginning tomorrow I am conducting a seminar on safecracking. It's an extremely useful skill, and one I think you would benefit from. The course will run at least a couple of weeks. I highly encourage you to attend."

Suddenly the rest of his recovery doesn't look so bad. Eggsy grins. "Well, you're in luck then. I think I can manage to fit you in my busy schedule."


	6. April

_You know it's true_  
_Everything I do, I do it for you_

 

Eggsy's cast finally comes off the third week of April. Having grown thoroughly tired of spending an inordinate amount of time every morning wrapping it in a bin bag so it didn't get wet in the shower, Harry isn't exactly sorry to see it go.

He missed Eggsy tremendously over the last several weeks. He's grown so used to making the trip to Savile Row with Eggsy at his side that it was something of a shock to have to go it alone again. It's been a very long time since Harry actually felt any kind of excitement over doing his job, but as they sit there in the doctor's office, he finds that he can hardly wait until tomorrow morning.

Eggsy himself is utterly delighted, walking around grinning and even dancing a little. For a former gymnast he doesn't have much rhythm, but Harry likes to watch him anyway. The sway of Eggsy's hips is a sight he'll never grow tired of.

There are all kinds of stern warnings from the doctor about how Eggsy is supposed to ease back into his old physical routines. Eggsy barely seems to listen, being more caught up in the sight of his very white, very skinny ankle. Harry listens for him, knowing perfectly well that there's not much point. Eggsy will dictate his own pace for recovery -- and it will of course be far faster than what the doctor suggests. He hopes Eggsy won't overdo it, but he knows he has no room to talk; after Kentucky he pushed himself so hard that he was back in the field a full month earlier than even the most optimistic predictions. Still, he plans to keep a careful eye on Eggsy's recovery. The last thing either of them needs is for something to land him on medical leave again.

That night they go out to dinner to celebrate. When the bill comes, Eggsy makes a grab for it, but Harry calmly plucks it away. "It's on me."

Eggsy's face tightens. "Come on," he says. "Let me. My way of paying you back for taking care of me all this time."

"Nonsense," Harry says. "You would have done the same for me. Besides, this is to celebrate your freedom. Or rather, your leg's freedom."

Eggsy kind of glares at him, still mutinous.

Unruffled, Harry catches the eye of their waiter and hands over his credit card. He never had any intention of letting Eggsy pay for their dinner. He knows perfectly well that Eggsy is saving up for Daisy's schooling, and that Eggsy pays for almost everything Michelle and Daisy need. He knows too that Michelle has a new job as a receptionist at an insurance company, but that it won't last. When it comes to punctuality, Michelle Unwin is as bad as Harry – and it's going to get her sacked.

So Eggsy is the one who pays for the groceries, the TV licence, the electric bill. Eggsy bought the new washer and dryer when the old ones quit. Eggsy pays for Daisy's day care when Michelle is working. Eggsy can't say no to anything his mum or sister needs, and Harry wouldn't want it any other way.

It's the only way he knows how to help the Unwins himself, by letting Eggsy support them. And so that means removing as many financial burdens from Eggsy's shoulders as possible. It might only be one dinner tonight, but one easily becomes two, becomes every other time they go out. He can't let them start down that slope.

So he pays for dinner.

By the time they leave, Eggsy is in high spirits again. A lot of that is because there was entirely too much wine served with their meal. The walk home through the spring evening seems very long. Eggsy talks too loudly and every so often almost trips over his own feet. He's used to the heavy weight of the boot cast, he explains, and Harry has visions of him doing a faceplant right onto the pavement and ending the evening in another hospital.

They make it home without incident, though, and the celebration continues. They drop their clothes on the floor and sit in a wide armchair and Eggsy rides him properly for the first time in weeks. Eggsy had joked once that they should get a sex swing for this kind of activity, but Harry had said he was more like to fall out and break his hip and frankly he didn't fancy explaining that to a surgeon, and that had been the end of such talk.

After they've shuddered to completion, Harry wraps both arms around Eggsy and pulls him close. Eggsy sits on his thighs and kisses his mouth, kisses the scar on his temple, and hugs him fiercely.

****

The very next morning Eggsy is scheduled for a test of his safecracking skills. All the Kingsman agents share the same basic skill set, but each agent tends to have a single area of specialty -- Harry's happens to be demolitions. Eggsy hasn't settled yet on what he'd like to make his focus, but he's admitted to Harry that he likes the idea of the safe. It's the moment of victory, he said. When it all clicks into place, literally, and he knows he's won.

He's not to be interrupted during the exam, so he gives his phone and glasses to Harry before entering the classroom. The desks have been removed and half a dozen safes line the walls. Eggsy looks confident, his eyes a clear green today.

Harry gives him a kiss for good luck. And then another one, just because he wants to.

Merlin rolls his eyes a little as he walks by, clipboard in hand. "Does the word 'discretion' mean anything to either of you?"

"Never heard of it," Eggsy grins.

"Obviously," Merlin replies.

The test will take a few hours. Left to his own devices, Harry goes for a run around the track; the spring is warming up nicely and it's actually a pleasant day to be outside working up a sweat.

When he's finished with his run he takes a shower and gets dressed again. He's knotting his tie when Eggsy's phone rings. It's the ringtone reserved for Michelle Unwin, so Harry answers it without thinking. "Hello, Mrs. Unwin."

She inhales sharply. "Where's Eggsy?" In the background, Daisy is crying.

"He's taking an exam just now," Harry says. He doesn't ask why Michelle is home in the middle of the day on a Tuesday.

"What is this, school?" But before Harry can spin a lie about Eggsy expanding his knowledge of the tailoring industry, she says, "Never mind. You need to get him."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Harry says.

Michelle makes a sound of distress. Daisy's crying gets louder.

Harry hesitates for a moment. Then he says, "Would you like for me to come get Daisy?"

"You stay away!" Michelle snaps. Then she immediately says, "Only if you promise to take her straight to Eggsy."

"I will," Harry vows.

"Then come get her," Michelle says, and hangs up.

Within a few minutes Harry is on the train headed back to London. He left a message with Merlin to give to Eggsy upon his completion of the exam. It's the best he can do for now.

****

Michelle looks like she has been crying. She can barely look at him. Harry picks Daisy up off the floor and settles her on his hip. Her face is red and blotchy from crying, and her nose and upper lip are crusted with snot. Harry pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes her face; Daisy whines angrily and twists away.

"Just call when you're ready for her," Harry says.

Michelle stares at him. "I ain't a bad mum," she says. "I know you think I am."

"I think you're doing the best you can," he replies.

Her eyes fill with tears. She turns away, and he leaves.

****

He has quite a nice afternoon with Daisy. He gives her a lunch of fish sticks and green peas, and some sticky red juice that she gets all over her hands and mouth. After a quick washing-up, they go to the park and Daisy runs around with all the limitless energy of a child her age.

The fun ends, though, when she trips and falls and skins her hands. Harry hurries over and Daisy stares up at him, huge blue eyes filling with tears.

His heart quails at the thought of her screaming right here where all the world can see. And though it might be cowardly, Harry blurts the first thing he can think of to distract her. "Oh dear," he says. "I guess we'll just have to go get some ice cream."

It's one of Eggsy's tried and true tactics -- and it works like a charm. Daisy lifts up her arms. "Yes," she says. Her voice wobbles a little, but she isn't bleeding and she isn't crying, so Harry counts it as a victory.

He doesn't get the chance to take her for ice cream, though. Before they can arrive at the shop, his phone rings. It's Michelle, demanding that he come back with Daisy.

So he returns to the house not far from his own where Michelle and Daisy and sometimes JB live. She opens the door while he's still coming up the walk, anxiously looking them over, then searching past his shoulder for Eggsy. Daisy flings her arms open and practically throws herself out of Harry's arms so she can lean over and reach for her mother.

Michelle gathers her up and briefly buries her face in Daisy's soft hair. Then she looks up. "Where's Eggsy? He's not answering his phone."

"Still taking the test, I imagine," Harry says. He hesitates, then follows her inside.

It looks like Michelle's made a half-hearted effort at cleaning up, which is a good sign. He glances around and says, "How are you doing?"

She makes a rude noise. In her arms, Daisy squirms to be let down, so Michelle sets her on her feet. She stands up straight again but she turns away a little, like she can't bear to actually face Harry. "As if you care. Why don't you just go?"

"You may find this hard to believe," Harry says, "but I do care. And I understand. I know what you're going through."

She stares at him with suspicion in her eyes, but says nothing.

"And though it isn't much use to me yet," he says, "I've been told that it's important to remember that it wasn't our fault." Several people have told him that very thing, most of them when he was still in hospital after V-Day, recovering from his injuries.

Michelle's eyes widen in amazement. She must not have known this about him. "You...?"

"I know what it feels like," Harry says. "I remember." And what he wouldn't give for selective memory loss. For the ability to forget it all, to never have to close his eyes and see it all again.

He hesitates, aware that he's about to share something with her he's never told another soul. Certainly not Eggsy. Not even the therapist who had to sign off on his recovery before he was allowed to pick up a gun and return to the field.

"And the worst part isn't what I did. It was that I didn't care."

In tears, Michelle nods. She's turned toward him now, truly looking him in the eye for maybe the first time since that day he visited her eighteen years ago and told her that her husband was dead. "Sometimes I think I didn't know what I was doing. But I did. I did."

"Of course you did," Harry says. "So did I."

She sniffs loudly and swallows hard, trying not to cry. But he can see that her tears now are from relief. Because he really _does_ understand, and he is quite possibly the first person she's met since that awful day who is willing to talk about it. She's been trying so hard for so long to be normal, to act like it never happened, never realizing that all around her are people in the exact same situation. Half the people she's worked with, that lady at the shop, the man sweeping the floors at Daisy's nursery – they all have stories similar to hers. But she's never asked, never sought help.

Harry can't blame her, though. Some things you just can't share with anyone else.

"Did you...?" She looks like she can't believe what she's saying. "Did you kill someone?"

He thinks about the church. All that blood. All those bodies. "Yes," he says.

Michelle's chin lifts. She's a mother coming to the defense of her child then, that unbreakable Unwin courage rising within her. "Does Eggsy know?"

"Yes," Harry says. "He's been a tremendous help." Although that isn't strictly true, because he has never talked with Eggsy about what happened at the church. Nor does he ever intend to. But it's enough to know that Eggsy is there beside him at night, a silent presence offering strength and support when he needs it most.

Since he began his relationship with Eggsy, this is the longest conversation he and Michelle have had. Unsure if he should press his luck, he adds quietly, "He would help you, too, if you want."

"I'm fine," Michelle says immediately, just like her son. But maybe for the first time she actually believes it, because she tries to smile, putting a brave face on it. "I'll be fine."

Harry just looks at her. "You will," he promises. 

And hopes the same is true for him, too.

****

A couple days later Eggsy looks up from his phone in surprise. "My mum wants to know if we want to go out to eat sometime. All of us."

"Of course," Harry says. "That would be very nice." He keeps his eyes on his tablet and tries to sound innocent.

"You _did_ say something to her, didn't you?" Eggsy demands. After his exam, which he passed with flying colors, of course, he had found out all about Daisy's play-date with Harry. He had seemed delighted and asked all kinds of questions about how it had gone, which Harry had answered honestly. He had only glossed over the truth when it came time to describe how he had dropped Daisy off with Michelle, and the conversation they had shared.

"Perhaps your mother has just finally realized that she can't hold a grudge forever," Harry suggests.

Eggsy walks over to where he's sitting and takes the tablet from his hands. With no excuse not to, Harry looks up at him.

Eggsy's eyes are soft, his mouth quirked in a wry smile. "Well, whatever you said or did, it worked. You're a fucking wizard."

"Yes," Harry says, deadpan. "And I even have a scar."

Eggsy tips his head back and groans. "That was fucking terrible. Promise me you'll never do that again."

Harry just smiles a little, quite pleased with himself.

"Seriously though," Eggsy says. "I'm glad. I didn't like it when you two wasn't getting along."

"Neither did I," Harry admits. He knows he and Michelle will never be truly friendly, but he hopes that for Eggsy's sake they can at least put aside their differences and learn how to co-exist.

Eggsy drops onto the couch beside him, still holding his tablet. "What were you working on?"

"Nothing important," Harry says.

Eggsy laughs and tosses the tablet onto the farthest cushion. "That's what I thought," he says, and leans in to give Harry a kiss. 

****

"One would think that having a hole chewed in one's sleeve would make one remember to hang up that sleeve."

"One would think."

"Eggsy."

"What? You sewed it back up. Good as new, innit?"

"That is not the point. The point is that your hoodie does not belong on the couch."

"Yeah, yeah. I know."

"Then you'll start hanging it up?"

"Sure."

****

"Harry."

"Yes?"

"You're doing it again."

"What am I doing?"

"I told ya before, you gotta squeeze the toothpaste from the bottom. You're messing it all up just grabbing it in the middle like this."

"I apologize. I'll try to remember."

"Okay, but you said that before and look at this."

"Yes, thank you, Eggsy, I can see it perfectly clear."

"Okay. I'm just sayin'."

****

Toward the end of April, Arthur leaves for Mumbai, where he is scheduled to meet with Champ from Statesman and the other heads of the Kingsman branches throughout the world. It's a once-a-year conference that Chester King hated and tried to set up in London whenever he could, just because he didn't like to travel. Their new Arthur doesn't seem to care, and there is no drama over his departure. 

Harry spends a couple days with Merlin at the shop, discussing potential new tests for their recruits as well as ways to find those candidates. Secrecy may be their life's blood, but there is no question that it does make it rather difficult to bring in new people.

At home Eggsy takes JB to the vet for his annual check-up and comes back quite disgruntled. "He's overweight, the vet says. Gotta stop feedin' him people food."

"We really should," Harry agrees. He's just as guilty of it as Eggsy, probably even more so.

JB just pants up at them, grinning in his doggy way. Like he knows even before they do that they won't be able to stick to it. 

The little bastard.

****

The latest chapter finished, Harry slips his bookmark in place and sets the book on the coffee table. It's getting late, and it's time to start thinking about going to bed. 

On the other end of the couch, Eggsy sits with his feet tucked under him and his phone in both hands. He's playing one of those games that has no point and no end, just a mindless way to pass the time.

Harry studies him, the way his hair curls up a little on the back of his neck, in need of a trim. He gazes at the scrape on Eggsy's knuckles from a sparring session with Lancelot, and is satisfied that it's healing well. He admires the way the lamplight falls across Eggsy's face, creating shadows at his throat while highlighting the sweep of his jaw.

Completely unaware of this scrutiny, Eggsy remains focused on his game. His tie is gone and he's undone the top two buttons of his shirt. And suddenly Harry can't wait to taste that vee of revealed skin. 

He slides down the couch and has Eggsy's phone in his hands before Eggsy even realizes it. "Hey," Eggsy protests, then he trails off into an incoherent mumble as Harry dips his head and kisses the spot he was just staring at. 

Eggsy's skin is soft and warm. Harry breathes him in, the scents of soap and cologne gone faint at the end of the day. He uses his nose to nudge Eggsy's shirt open a little more, exposing more skin for him to kiss.

Eggsy puts a hand on his back. He tilts his head back obligingly, granting Harry better access to his throat. In reward Harry kisses him there, feeling the quickening beat of Eggsy's pulse beneath his lips.

He's going to kiss every inch of Eggsy tonight, he decides.

He reaches up to undo another button. Eggsy's fingers pull at his shirt, tugging it free from his trousers and slipping underneath so he can touch bare skin. The simple touch sends sparks through Harry's blood, and he closes his lips on a spot below Eggsy's collarbone, sucking until he feels heated warmth. 

Eggsy makes a sound then, low in his throat. 

Harry kisses the reddened area. He undoes another button of Eggsy's shirt.

And simultaneously both their glasses chime.

Harry sits up. For a moment they look at each other. He sees the flush on Eggsy's cheeks and the deepening color of his eyes and knows a pang of regret. 

He's closer, so he leans over and retrieves his glasses from the coffee table. "Yes."

"Galahad." It's Merlin, sounding uncharacteristically flustered. "You're at home?"

"Yes," Harry says again. The use of his code name makes it abundantly clear that this is no ordinary check-in. Beside him, Eggsy puts his glasses on. 

"I need you to get on your computer," Merlin says. "I'm going to patch you through to Percival. He's found a bomb."

Instantly Harry is up and headed for the stairs. "Tell me what you've got."

There's a slight pause, then Merlin says, "Percival, I have Galahad."

"Tell me," Harry says as he enters his office.

"This is a populated area," Percival says. His voice is strained. "I've never seen anything like this."

It takes only seconds to connect to the Kingsman network. There's a brief pause, then a picture appears on the screen -- the bomb Percival is currently staring at. 

"Fuck me," Eggsy breathes. Harry glances up in some surprise, not having realized Eggsy was following right behind him. 

"Please tell me you've seen this before," Percival says. He walks slowly around the bomb, letting Harry get a good look at it. 

It's a mess for sure. Whoever put this together clearly knew what they were doing, but couldn't be bothered with any elegance or efficiency. The bomb contains a powerful explosive that guarantees a huge blast radius. It also has a countdown clock with an already worryingly short time span. But yes, it's familiar.

"I can walk you through dismantling it," Harry says. 

Percival blows out his breath, the sound clearly audible over the glasses. "Thank God."

One of Eggsy's hands clasps Harry's shoulder. Harry reaches up absently to squeeze his fingers, then he forgets about Eggsy standing behind him and focuses on what's on his screen.

"Right," he says. "You're going to need very steady hands, but you can do this."

Percival nods, making the image onscreen bob up and down. "Oh fuck."

"You'll be fine," Harry says. "Now, first thing..."

****

After it's all done and Percival is on his way, Eggsy says, "I didn't know you could do that."

A little surprised, Harry looks at him. "You knew I understood demolitions."

Eggsy is in the kitchen, having announced that he was suddenly ravenous. Harry isn't hungry, but he did pour himself a very strong drink. He stands now by the sideboard, sipping at his drink. 

Eggsy looks at him over the sandwich he's making. "Yeah," he says. "But that wasn't demolitions. That was...that was fucking _magic_."

Harry accepts the praise as his due. It was definitely a tense few minutes, but he was always confident he and Percival would prevail. It wasn't the first time he's walked another Kingsman through dismantling a bomb and it won't be the last. 

"Listening to you," Eggsy says. His snack is forgotten. "Watching you." He makes a gesture, mimicking what he just saw upstairs. It's not mockery, Harry understands. It's appreciation.

It's much harder to walk someone through something so stressful than doing it himself. Sitting there at his desk, he had found himself going through the motions, too, even though Percival couldn't see him, could only hear him over the glasses. It had helped alleviate some of the tension and given him something to do with his hands besides clutch the edge of the desk.

"And the way you look when you get all focused," Eggsy says. His voice has dropped; he's aroused, Harry suddenly realizes. "I bet you could just talk me into coming all over myself."

 _Fuck._ The idea sends a hot thrill racing through him. The unbearable tension of the last fifteen minutes suddenly has an entirely new cause. "I'm quite sure I could," he says. "But that is a challenge for another day. I already had plans for you tonight."

Eggsy smiles, looking quite eager to hear those plans. "Yeah?"

"Yes," Harry says. "Before we were interrupted." He puts his glass down and walks into the kitchen. He can see all of Eggsy's body now, and oh yes, he is definitely aroused. 

With how quickly everything happened, Eggsy never bothered to button his shirt back up. Even the sterile light of the kitchen can't detract from how inviting he looks. 

Harry wraps his arms around him. "Now," he says. "Where was I?"

****

"Eggsy, what's that on the couch?"

"Oops. Yeah. Sorry. I'll go hang it up."

****

"Harry! Seriously?"

"Yes. Right. From the bottom. I apologize."


	7. May

_And sometimes you close your eyes_  
_And see the place where you used to live_

 

Eggsy really does enjoy safecracking. It's a thrill to go up against something so big and faceless and know he's got the skills and knowledge to defeat it. Plus it's quiet work, which is something he's still learning to appreciate after spending years in that noisy flat in the estates.

This is one of the easier models he's encountered. It's not long at all before he's swinging the door open to reveal the treasures hidden within. 

"Very well done," Merlin approves.

Eggsy walks inside the safe. There are lots of valuables in here but only one he's interested in. Amid the jewels and paintings, the leather briefcase looks out of place. Eggsy opens it and checks the paper files tucked within. "They're all here."

"Good," Merlin says. His voice in Eggsy's ear is nasally; he's been fighting off a cold for a couple days now. 

Eggsy backs out of the safe and shuts the door. He's about to head for the window when the door to the office opens and his target's wife walks in. 

For a moment they both just stare at each other in shock. Then the wife opens her mouth to yell out a warning. Before she can get anything out though, Eggsy lets the dart fly from his watch.

She crumples to the floor; he's way too far away to catch her so he can only wince as she lands in a heap. "Fuck."

"Just get out of there," Merlin says.

He's actually at the window this time when the door opens again and two men walk in. One of them is his target, the owner of the safe and the files in the briefcase. The other is a hired bodyguard.

Eggsy's out the window before the first bullets embed themselves in the window frame. One of them flattens itself in the back of his suit, and he grunts with the impact. Then he's off and running. 

He's gotta say this for the rooftops of Florence: they really are like you see in the movies. Close enough to leap from one to the next, red tile everywhere, and pitched at just enough of an angle to constantly keep him in danger of tumbling head over heels onto the street. It could almost be fun, except he's very aware that this is exactly the kind of thing that could fuck up his newly healed ankle if he's not careful. 

So he counts gunshots as he runs and ducks and skids along the rooftops. And when he's certain his pursuer is out of bullets, he stops running. Just stands there straddling the red tile peak of a roof and lets the guy come toward him.

The guard approaches warily. Eggsy doesn't really know much Italian beyond a few basic phrases (and the swear words of course) so he speaks in English. "Look," he says, "I'm just getting over a broken ankle." He gestures to his right foot. "So can we skip the part where we chase each other and just get right to beating each other up?"

The man attacks, eyes gleaming with opportunity. He kicks out at Eggsy's bad leg. It's ridiculously easy to twist away and come at the guy when he's off balance, just sock the shit out of him with the briefcase he stole. After that gravity does the rest; he simply has to stand there and watch as the guy falls off the roof and splats on the street below.

A couple minutes later Eggsy is on the street too, just another businessman with a nice Italian leather briefcase on his way home from work.

And that's one more successful mission for Kingsman. 

****

He's finishing up his debrief with Arthur when his phone dings with an incoming text. Arthur glowers at this unforgivable rudeness, and Eggsy winces a little in apology. "Sorry," he says, and quickly silences his phone. 

Later he sees the text was from Harry. _Let me know when you're leaving HQ. I'll pick up something for dinner._

Eggsy writes back, _Thought you were cooking?_

 _Apparently the front burner on the stove quit_ , is the reply, and Eggsy can just hear the flat annoyance even in Harry's written voice. _I've called for repairs but the soonest they can be here is Thursday._

Which is still two days away.

 _Ok_ , Eggsy texts, and he heads out. 

On the way home he stops at their favorite takeaway place. He's really hungry, so he gets several different dishes and even a couple slices of cake. As he walks out, laden down with plastic bags full of food, he thinks that it's a pretty evening, one of those spring days that feels more like summer. It's supposed to be chilly again this weekend, but for now the weather is quite pleasant. 

He lets himself in the front door. JB starts barking like crazy, so happy to see him his whole rump is wagging. "Missed you, too," Eggsy says, since he can't pet the dog with his hands full. 

Harry is just coming down the stairs. His glasses are on, so he must have been working from home. He looks at the bags Eggsy is carrying with a blend of bewilderment and irritation. "I thought you were going to let me know when you were on your way. I was going to get dinner."

"Yeah, well," Eggsy says. He dumps the bags on the dining room table. "I was already out, wasn't I? Figured I might as well stop."

Harry looks like he wants to argue the point, and Eggsy waits for it. It really is a nice day for a blazing row, after all.

It's been a long time coming, this fight they're about to have. The way he sees it, they're even overdue by a couple months. But then that whole thing with his ankle happened and everything was so weird for a while that he couldn't bring it up then.

But he's better now. He's ready.

Dinner is pretty quiet. His stomach is tied in knots now, his earlier appetite vanished, and he doesn't eat much. He notices Harry doing the same. While they pretend to eat, Harry asks about his mission, but it feels a lot more like he does it out of duty than from any real interest. He knows what's coming, too. Of course he does.

At last Eggsy gives up on dinner and pushes aside the styrofoam container full of food he's hardly touched. Might as well get on with it.

"So remember when I moved in," he says. "And you said we'd talk about this whole thing about me not payin' for stuff?" He looks at Harry. "Don'tcha think it's time we had that talk?"

Harry leans back in his chair, and Eggsy doesn't need no fancy Kingsman training to be able to read that kind of body language. "I remember," Harry says. His tone does not exactly invite follow-up questions.

"So then let's talk about it," Eggsy says.

Harry inhales deeply through his nose. He's got his game face on, the carefully neutral expression that hides what he's truly thinking. It's the way he looked at Eggsy on the very first night they ever spent together, sitting there oh-so-coolly in his office while Eggsy whined about being a pleb and slouched in the armchair. He could be thinking anything right now. There's no way to tell.

"What do you want to talk about?" Harry says.

Eggsy shakes his head and shrugs. "All of it. I dunno. How about the fact that you never let me pay for anything, and when I do, you always get this pissy look on your face like you're mad about it?"

He hadn't really known how he was going to approach the subject, but now that he's started, the words just kind of pour out. Like they've been storing themselves up in his head all this time, just waiting for this chance. "Or how about the way I gotta fucking sneak around so I can actually pay for something, like me not telling you I was comin' home tonight just so I could get dinner for once? Or the way you make me feel sometimes like I'm a fucking guest in my own house?" He hesitates, then blurts out the one thing he thought he would never say out loud. "If this really _is_ my house."

Harry's expression had been growing tighter with every word, like he was having to work at staying silent through Eggsy's tirade. But at that last bit, he goes as still as stone. "If you even have to ask that…"

He's barely begun and already he's gone too far. Story of his life, really. But it's out there, so he might as well own it. Eggsy shrugs again, spreading his hands in an exaggerated gesture of confusion. "Well? Is it?"

"Of course it is," Harry says. Ice drips from every word.

"Okay, fine," Eggsy says, because yeah, he really _did_ go too far with that one, and besides that isn't even the point. Harry's actually just proved his point. "So then how come you never let me pay for anything? Why do you make me feel like I'm just some guest stayin' here?"

"I can assure you that was never my intention," Harry says, still in that cold tone. "However, since you clearly have that impression, let me make myself clear."

" 'Bout time," Eggsy says.

Harry ignores this. He gazes steadily at Eggsy, stiff with insult and grievance. "To start with, I would never wish to _let you_ do anything. You are a grown man and you can make your own choices. You need never ask my permission to do anything, Eggsy, and you certainly need never resort to 'sneaking around' as you so put it."

"But I do!" he protests, because that is so unfair. Harry might _say_ he can just do what he wants, like pay for their groceries or their check at dinner, but the truth is that any time he tries, he gets thwarted. Either Harry physically intervenes by taking the bill before he can, or he's got some persuasive reason to change Eggsy's mind, like on the night of the supposed celebration dinner when he got the cast off his ankle. Either way, though, it amounts to the same thing.

"You most certainly do _not_ ," Harry says emphatically. "But since you seem to think so, clearly I'm doing something wrong."

Before Eggsy can answer that, Harry continues, "I prefer not to 'let you' pay for anything because I know how much your family means to you. And it was my hope that you would be able to support them without any hardship to yourself, so you were free to be as generous as you wished without worrying about any financial burdens on yourself."

Eggsy blinks in shock. He can't believe his ears. "So this is all about you," he says. "And your guilt about what happened to my dad. You're still tryin' to repay him, only you're doing it through me. Literally. With my money."

Harry stands up so fast his chair rocks back on two legs. "Nothing could be further from the truth," he says tightly. "And I think this conversation is over."

Eggsy stands up, too. "No, it ain't," he snaps. "We're just gettin' started."

He feels the same rush of anger and dismay he always felt whenever Dean would start in on him. The same need to cower down and deflect the anger aimed at his head, while at the same time wanting to lash out with the most hurtful words he can wield. Because words are a weapon that hurts deeper than any closed fist. And he oughta know.

"You ain't never gonna pay him back, Harry," he says. "You know why? Because he's dead. He's fucking dead!"

"You think I'm not aware of that?" Harry snaps back. "And this was never about Lee. You made it that way, not me."

"Oh, sure," Eggsy retorts. "Fine. Then it's about my mum. My sister. Takin' care of them. Isn't that what this is about? You feelin' guilty so you let me pay for everything of theirs while you pay for everything here?"

"My feelings have nothing to do with it," Harry says. Eggsy can practically see the glacier forming between them, all that cold and ice making him want to shiver. "This was about you, and giving you—"

"Giving me what?" Eggsy interrupts. "What the fuck am I supposed to be getting out of all this?"

"A chance!" Harry almost yells. "The chance you would never have got if—" He stops himself, but it's already too late.

"If it wasn't for you," Eggsy finishes for him.

Harry draws himself up stiffly. "Yes," he says. "But that is not relevant."

"Oh, I think it is," Eggsy says. He can hardly get the words out, he feels so sick to his stomach.

"It is _not_ ," Harry insists. For half a second he sways forward, but the ice between them checks the movement, and he goes still again. "Eggsy—"

"No," Eggsy says. "Forget it." He pivots on his heel and heads for the door. "Just fucking forget it!" And yeah, he's the one who brought it up, but he wishes now more than anything that he hadn't, that he had just kept his fucking mouth shut.

Why the fuck does he always do this? Why does he always have to open his mouth and make everything worse? Dean was right about him. He's a fucking loser who ruins everything. He deserves every bit of this hurt.

He storms out the door and into the night. It's still really nice out, a bit of a breeze carrying a hint of summer's approaching heat. The city seems pretty tonight, appreciative of the warmer weather, the streetlights shining with an extra glow.

Eggsy doesn't notice any of that shit. He just swipes angrily at his eyes and starts to run.

****

He ends up in Rowley Way without even realizing that's where his feet were taking him. He's not crying anymore, but his entire body feels hot and swollen with unshed tears, with words still pent up inside longing for release. He wants to scream into the night, to let loose all the rage and shame and guilt and confusion.

The row of flats stretches off into the night. He can hear raised voices, loud music, the blat of a car engine. Ryan and Jamal still live here. Other friends, less close but still fiercely loyal, still live here.

If it wasn't for a fateful phone call, he would still live here, too.

He walks down the pavement, sniffing a little to clear his sinuses. He's terribly out of place in his bespoke suit, but he isn't too worried. Anyone who tries to mug him will either recognize him and back off, or else they won't and he'll have to _make_ them back off. Either way, he'll be fine.

Nobody approaches him, though. He gets a few puzzled looks, but no one tries anything. He's almost sorry. He could use a different target, someone he could really pound on and let his frustration out on.

He stops and stares up at the door to the flat that was his home for most of his life. The only time he ever lived anywhere else was when he was in the Marines, when he thought he would be like his dad, when he thought he had finally made his escape.

He doesn't know who lives here now. Doesn't want to know. Doesn't want to see the door open and a stranger walk out.

He doesn't know what to do next. He could look up Ryan or Jamal, maybe crash with them. But he's not gonna do that, for the same reason he's not gonna end up at Roxy's or his mum's. He doesn't want anyone to know he and Harry fought. He doesn't want their looks of silent sympathy and I-told-you-so.

No, he's got to go back. Sort this out.

He doesn't understand it. He thought they _had_ sorted this shit out. Way back last summer, when he was still bruised from V-Day and Harry was in hospital in Kentucky. Eggsy had been nervous as hell the first time he went to see him, not sure of his welcome or what he was even supposed to say.

He hadn't known what to expect. What he had got, though, was enough to silence him completely. Harry had been a shocking sight, sitting in bed with his hair hanging down in limp curls and a bandage covering his left eye; between all the swelling and the damage, they hadn't known yet if there would be any loss of vision. He had always been so polished and put together before that Eggsy hadn't known it was even possible for him to look so wretched. But there had been nothing wrong with his voice as he ordered Eggsy to come in and sit down. 

He had apologized for everything then, but mostly for reducing Eggsy to just a box to be ticked off on some mental to-do list: _repay Lee_. "I admit that was how I first felt when I saw you had called us. It was why I went to see you in person instead of simply having you released from behind the scenes as I normally would have done. But then I met you and spoke with you, and I realized you were so much more than Lee's son." 

He had paused then, and Eggsy had shifted uncomfortably in his chair, really not sure he wanted to hear the rest of it. 

"You were a good man," Harry had said. "You were only wanting the opportunity to realize it for yourself.

"So I took a chance. I invested in _you_ , Eggsy, not Lee. It was always you. And if I ever made you feel otherwise, and that terrible thing I said before I left..." He had appeared distressed then, gazing earnestly at Eggsy with his single eye, imploring him to believe. "I am so sorry."

And Eggsy had believed.

For nearly a year he's believed it. Only for it all to come crashing down around him tonight, the truth at last revealed.

But it can't be true. It can't. 

Harry has never flaunted his own posh background or obvious wealth. He has never made Eggsy feel ashamed of his upbringing or his ignorance about things like oyster forks and Egyptian cotton sheets and how much to tip the porter at the hotel for carrying his luggage. He's quick to turn such moments of shame into a lesson, though he always manages to frame it in Kingsman terms rather than purely financial. _Never overtip. You don't want to stand out or be remembered. You were here, but nothing more. Then if anyone comes around asking questions about you, there can be no real answers._ Making him feel safe, not stupid.

But more importantly, he's never once felt like being together was just a form of penance for Harry, more atonement for letting Lee die on his watch. They put that behind them after Kentucky and moved on. They've been happily together for months now. Fuck, they even love each other. 

He simply can't believe he's been wrong all this time. There has to be a reason for all of this. There has to be something he's missed. Something he's not understanding. And there's only one way he's going to find out what it is.

****

It's very late when he arrives back at Stanhope Mews. His feet ache from running halfway across London and back, but he hardly notices. The ache in his chest is really the only thing he can feel.

The lights are still on in the house.

The front door is unlocked. He hesitates only a little before stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

JB runs up, happy to see him, blissfully unaware that anything is wrong. Eggsy ignores him, though, his gaze going straight to where Harry sits on the couch.

Funny that he should have been thinking about that day last June when he and Harry first saw each other again after V-Day. 'Cause now all he can think about is that very first day they met, when he walked into the shop on Savile Row and then just stood there, the door at his back, uncertain whether he should go forward or turn around and flee.

It's exactly how he feels right now.

It's a little different this time, though. Harry isn't drinking, and he isn't in a suit. He doesn't look supremely confident, either. There is something in his eyes Eggsy can't quite identify, something that looks an awful lot like fear.

His heart pounding, he sits in the armchair opposite the couch. His thoughts are a blur; at that moment he can't actually recall what they said to each other just a few hours ago. He is not going to cry, he tells himself fiercely. He is not. He is not. He is not.

Neither of them speaks. JB curls up on his bed by the end of the couch and gives Eggsy a reproachful look. Eggsy stares back at him, using the dog as an excuse not to look at Harry. He can't think of a single thing to say.

At last Harry says quietly, "May I speak?"

Eggsy nods. There's a lump in his throat. He keeps staring at JB.

"I understand you're upset," Harry says. "But I believe you misunderstood what I was trying to say earlier."

"Then say it," Eggsy grits out. He knows he did, yeah. He fucked up like he always does. He wants to hear Harry say it. He wants to hear the truth. 

Mostly he just wants it to _be_ the truth.

"When I said I know how much your family means to you, I meant that. Even before we met, when I looked up your file before picking you up at the police station, I could see that about you. You always found a way to look after your family, even when all the doors were closed to you." 

Harry pauses and takes a deep breath. "Now that one has swung open, via Kingsman, of course you must walk through it. And I would never dream of holding you back or preventing you from doing so. So my way of helping you was to clear the path for you." He hesitates again, and Eggsy finally looks up at him. This time he can plainly see the turmoil in Harry's eyes, all those doubts that their row brought to the surface. 

"If I went about that wrong, if I made a mistake in not explaining myself to you, then I am deeply sorry. But I can't be sorry for what I did, or why I did it."

Eggsy presses his lips together to keep them from trembling. Oh God, all those things he said, all those awful, shitty things. And yet, isn't there a grain of truth to them? Whether Harry wants to admit it or not, his old guilt over Lee is surely part of his motivation.

"And moving forward, I won't stand in your way if you wish to pay for something," Harry says. "I'm sorry if I made you feel like you had to sneak around in order to pay for your share. That was never my intention."

"I'm sorry," Eggsy blurts. He has to say it now before he loses the ability to speak for good. "I know I fucked up."

"I think we both did," Harry says softly.

"I shouldn't'a said them things," he says.

Harry sighs. "Eggsy, do you know what I thought about when I was on the plane to Kentucky that day? Do you know what kept going through my head?"

It's such an odd question that for a moment it banishes the tears that keep threatening to fall. Eggsy shakes his head. "No." He can imagine it, though. Harry had probably gone over and over their argument in his head, just the way Eggsy had, ghosting through the hours alone in Harry's house, waiting for him to arrive in Kentucky so he could watch whatever would happen at the church.

"We had had such little time together," Harry says, "yet you knew exactly how to hurt me. And I with you." His mouth quirks in a wry smile. "If I had any doubts that you and I were meant to be together, they were put to rest on that flight. I knew I could only be with someone who understood me as well as you did."

"Fucking hell," Eggsy says, and starts to cry anyway. "Harry…"

Later he can never remember who moved where or even what they said to each other. He just knows that they end up somewhere in the middle of the room holding each other tight. "Fuck," he cries, his hands fisted in Harry's shirt.

"Oh, my dear," Harry murmurs, and doesn't let go.

****

In the morning Eggsy wakes up with a dry mouth and his legs entangled with Harry's. There's a sticky patch on his stomach that they missed in the clean-up, and the cap for the lube bottle is actually on his pillow, two scant inches from his nose.

He smiles a little, aching all over and utterly content.

So they had their first fight since Kentucky. It was fucking awful, but they survived. It was a night of other firsts, too, things he won't ever forget. The first time he saw Harry in tears. The first time they had scorching hot make-up sex.

The first time he knew, beyond any doubt, that he is going to spend the rest of his life here with Harry.

He turns his head so he can gaze at Harry. In the clear morning light, his face half-buried in his pillow, Harry looks extremely kissable. His hair a tangled mess, his lips slightly parted, he's just begging for it.

Ever happy to oblige, Eggsy rolls toward him and kisses him awake. "Good morning, love."


	8. June

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note there is some graphic imagery in this chapter.

_I got guns in my head and they won't go_  
_Spirits in my head and they won't go_

 

It's not every day that the world needs saving. In fact, most days it doesn't. When he's not actively assigned to a mission, Harry spends most of his time doing research, putting together facts and figures that most people wouldn't connect, looking for a pattern. Seeking out the madmen who make it necessary to save the world.

The sixth of June finds him in the library as usual, a cup of coffee long gone cold at his elbow, a laptop open in front of him. He can feel the headache building behind his left eye, the telltale dull pain that will continue to escalate all day. It's irritating and frustrating in equal measure; even though he knows he's lucky to be alive, he can't help the resentment sometimes.

He's about to take a break when his phone chimes with a text from Eggsy. _Lunch?_

The timing couldn't be better. _Yes_ , Harry writes back. _Meet you in ten._

 _Make it five_ , is Eggsy's reply. _I'm starving._

Smiling, Harry texts back his agreement. He closes the laptop and stands up. He stretches a little, arching his back; he's been sitting all morning and the hours in one posture are making themselves known now.

As he's walking out, his attention is caught by the row of portraits marching along one wall. Old white men, all of them, these Arthurs who have led Kingsman over the years, beginning with the very first one and ending with their current Arthur. But it's not the last picture that has Harry's focus. It's the one next to it.

He walks up to the painting, standing with his hands clasped behind his back, studying it as though he were in a museum. Chester King is younger in the portrait, painted some twelve years ago when he became Arthur. He is not smiling, but there is a warmth in his eyes that Harry can remember clear as day. Chester, when he was pleased about something, could be the most cheerful person to be around. But when he was displeased, he withdrew behind a wall of chilly formality that no one could pierce.

That was the face Harry had dealt with more and more often over the years. The friendly camaraderie he had known for most of his career at Kingsman had all but disappeared by the end, until almost no trace of his former friend and colleague had remained.

Harry stares at those eyes, remembering them not as they are in the painting, but as they were at the end.

 _What did I ever do to you?_ he wonders. _Why did you hate me so much that you betrayed me without a second thought?_

****

They haven't talked about it, but he knows Eggsy is just as aware of the date as he is. Even if they weren't privately aware, it would be hard to escape the rising media attention. The one-year anniversary of V-Day is fast approaching, and people around the world are preparing to celebrate.

Eggsy reacts by sinking into loud activity, as though he were trying to drown out the thoughts in his own head. He visits his old friends Ryan and Jamal and hangs out with them for hours, perhaps seeking to recapture some of his lost innocence. He invites Harry to join them one night for dinner, but Harry declines on the grounds that he wouldn't want to intrude on old friendships. Eggsy accepts this weak excuse a bit too readily, confirming his private suspicion that he was only invited out of politeness.

When Eggsy gets back from dinner, he's so drunk it's a wonder he managed to find his way home. He staggers a little as he climbs the stairs. "You know what I learned tonight?" His hand is heavy on the railing. "Ryan's grandma killed his grandpa on V-Day. I didn't know that." He stops, fumbles at his throat like he's loosening the tie he isn't actually wearing. "Seventy-fucking-something years old, and she stabbed him nine times with her sewing scissors. How'd'ya like that?" He laughs, but it sounds more like a sob.

Harry slips an arm about his waist; he's worried Eggsy will fall down the stairs.

"Nine times," Eggsy says. He stares at Harry, his eyes wet. "They was married fifty fucking years."

"Come on," Harry says. He applies pressure with his arm and manages to get Eggsy moving up the stairs again.

"It's my fault," Eggsy says. He's crying now, but doesn't seem to even realize it. "Some big fucking hero I am."

"It's not your fault," Harry says. He guides Eggsy into their bedroom and turns on the light. At the flood of light, Eggsy cringes back.

"Harry." Eggsy turns toward him, still in the circle of his arm. "Fuck me. Please. Fuck me."

He's only too happy to comply. They fuck against the wall next to the full-length mirror, Eggsy's legs wrapped around his waist, Eggsy's fingers digging into his shoulders hard enough to bruise. Harry slams into him again and again, losing himself in the mindless rhythm of sex, caring nothing for Eggsy's pleasure, only about achieving release.

Later as they lie in bed, Eggsy snoring lightly beside him, Harry thinks that no one ever blames _him_ for all those deaths.

No one ever accuses him of failing to kill Valentine when he had the chance.

****

_Their bodies are sprawled everywhere. The reek of blood is in the back of his throat, so thick he wants to gag with it. He doesn't fit right in his own head anymore; he staggers as he picks his way through the wreckage and the slaughter and into the day._

_Outside it's very bright. For several seconds he's blind. When he can see again, they're standing in front of him._

_He knows what happens now. The final words. The gunshot. The moment of exquisite pain and then the utter nothing of collapse._

_He is terrified._

_"Well, this ain't that kind of movie," Valentine says, and fires._

****

The new Prime Minister is scheduled to speak at a memorial at Westminster Abbey for members of the Royal Family lost on V-Day. Kingsman knows of three assassination plots against him and more come in every day, although most of them are not credible.

He's only been in office a couple months, installed after a hasty election cycle, but already the new PM is not popular. He ran – and won – on a platform that aimed directly at people's fears after V-Day, saying that he would reduce Britain's dependence on technology and get back to old-fashioned values like letter-writing and actually visiting people face to face. Or, as Eggsy puts it, "The old-fashioned value of 'I'm gonna thump you if you pop by my house unannounced one more time.'"

Startled into laughter in spite of himself, Harry can only agree.

By virtue of a long-extinct and all but forgotten title, Harry has an automatic invitation to the memorial. From there it's simple to register Eggsy as his personal security attachment. So they will both be there, at the one place neither of them wants to be. But that is the nature of the job; personal feelings are not allowed to interfere with a Kingsman's duty.

Percival takes out one of the would-be assassins with nine days to go. Tristan tracks another group, but can't get close enough to make a move. At HQ Harry and Eggsy sit together and pore over blueprints of Westminster Abbey and discuss strategy. These conversations are calm and professional, with no reference to the reason for the memorial. When they have figured out how to counter one set of moves the assassins might make, they move on to another. They are coolly logical and rational.

And when they are finished for the day, they go home and sit together on the couch, watching old movies they've seen a dozen times before. Eggsy leans in close and Harry wraps an arm around him. They stay up until their eyes burn and then at last they go upstairs to bed.

Sometimes Eggsy wakes up first, gasping and sweating. Sometimes it's Harry.

In the morning, they get up and they get dressed and they go back to work.

****

Michelle is not doing well. It's not enough anymore for them to remove Daisy from her sight for a while. Eggsy spends an evening with her, and comes home just long enough to pack a bag so he can stay the night at her house.

"You don't mind?" he asks anxiously.

"Of course not," Harry assures him. "You should be with her now. She needs you."

He refuses to let himself think that he needs Eggsy, too.

****

_The dull crump of the explosion is enough to knock him off his feet. He falls heavily, ears ringing, head pounding._

_And for a few seconds, his mind clears._

_He looks up in bewildered fear -- what the hell is happening -- and the mists close about his brain again. The people in the church deform into monsters, vile creatures he loathes on sight._

_He has to kill them all._

_He cuts them down with ease. They are no match for his dark talents. He kills the pastor and then whips around to face the last of them._

_It's Eggsy._

_Eggsy is covered in blood. His eyes glint with feral light. He grins. "Come on then."_

_Killing him takes a little longer than with the others, but he accomplishes it all the same. He turns to walk away, and Eggsy's hand shoots out to clutch his ankle. "Harry."_

_Irritated, he looks down. Eggsy is dying, the blood bright red on his pale skin. He stares up at Harry in anguish. "I lo--"_

_Harry crushes his skull beneath one shiny Oxford. Alone at last, he staggers from the church out into the blinding sunlight._

****

He barely makes it to the bathroom before he's bent over, retching up the meager dinner he had a few hours ago. Even when there's nothing more to bring up, he stands there uncertainly, the back of his trembling hand pressed to his mouth, eyes squeezed shut.

Just then he's grateful that Eggsy isn't there. He knows all he would see was blood and bone.

The memory makes his stomach heave again. When the spasm passes he feels shaky all over, his eyes burning with involuntary tears.

It's barely two in the morning but Harry knows he won't be getting any more sleep tonight.

****

They walk to the shop that morning. It's a beautiful sunny day, the kind of early summer day that puts one in mind of the seaside and the beach. It feels almost too warm in the city, surrounded by miles of pavement and smelly vehicles and chattering tourists.

Occasionally Harry glances over at Eggsy. It helps to see the sun shining on Eggsy's hair, to see the Rainmaker he carries in spite of the weather. By the time they arrive at Savile Row, his heart rate has finally resumed its regular rhythm and he's no longer seeing the awful images from his dream every time he blinks.

Arthur greets them wearily; he too looks as though he isn't sleeping well. He approves their intention of going to Westminster in person to check out the physical area and strengthen their knowledge of the place. "We need every advantage we can get," he says. "If the PM is harmed, I needn't tell you the crisis it would plunge this country into."

Within half an hour of entering the shop, they're on the move again in a Kingsman cab. Merlin waits at HQ, ready to record what they see as they look around the old abbey, searching for likely areas where people might hide. Harry also wants to check places where a person might cache weapons ahead of time -- security on the day of the memorial will be tight. Anyone wishing to bring a weapon into this place would do well to plan ahead.

Eggsy thumps his Rainmaker against his seat. "I told my mum she could come by for dinner tonight."

Harry is not sure that's such a good idea, but he says, "She's always welcome."

Eggsy sort of shrugs. "She won't come. Just thought I'd let you know, though. Just in case."

"We should have her and Daisy over some time," Harry says. It may be too soon for such a thing, especially since the truce between him and Michelle is so new, but he knows he ought to try anyway. And with Eggsy there to keep them both involved and civil, maybe it wouldn't actually be that bad.

"Yeah," Eggsy says. "Just...not now."

"All right," Harry says. He hopes he doesn't sound as relieved as he feels.

In quiet tones they discuss the plan once they reach the Abbey, and which sections they will each cover. Depending on how crowded it is, the investigation may take two days, something Harry very much hopes to avoid.

The cab lets them out a short distance away from Westminster. The grounds are swarming with tourists with cameras and phones out taking pictures; huge tour groups with headphones on wander into everyone's path. Eggsy swears colorfully as an old couple almost walks right into him, drawing a shocked look from the older of the two. They pay the rather exorbitant entrance fee and then they are inside.

Right away the immensity of the abbey makes itself known. Despite the crowds, all voices sound hushed. The air itself seems ancient, a living reminder of the history of the building and the ones who lie beneath it.

Harry sees none of this. His gaze is riveted on the altar and the cross.

He forgot. In the need to do his duty, he forgot the most basic fact of all about Westminster Abbey. That for all its size and majesty, it is still just a church.

Cold shivers run through him. Movement at the corner of his eye catches his attention; his head jerks to one side. Everywhere he looks there are people.

Harry looks at them and knows exactly how he would kill them.

A split second later he's reeling back, sick with horror. He forces his hands to stop reaching for his gun, to uncurl from their fists. He actually starts to take a step to his right, recoiling from the religious icons, and then freezes at the sight of all the blood pooled on the ground at his feet.

There's so much blood.

"Harry?"

Eggsy swims into focus. There is blood on the side of his crushed skull. Blood on his throat from a single swipe of a knife. A hole in his forehead from a gunshot. He stands with one hand held out, begging him to stand down. His eyes are wide and desperate, full of hate and malice, wet with tears. Every incarnation of him from every version of every nightmare Harry has endured for the last year all blur and blend into one impossible figure.

Then the figure speaks. "Galahad."

The single word cuts through the haze of blood and horror. In all the time they have been together, Eggsy has never used his name like that. Crisp and professional while on a mission, yes. Never with such softness, like a term of endearment.

He blinks and it's just Eggsy standing beside him. Eggsy in his navy pinstriped Kingsman suit with the club tie. Eggsy with his Rainmaker in one hand and the black-framed glasses on his face. Eggsy with his eyes very blue and full of concern.

"We should go," Eggsy says.

Harry manages a stiff nod. Over Eggsy's shoulder, people mill about and get in each other's way and look around with eager curiosity. There are too many of them, too many, and he shudders again.

"Look at me," Eggsy says. He's still using that gentle tone that would irritate Harry on any other day. "Just look only at me."

Eggsy extends his hand. The gesture is well-intentioned but the sight of a hand reaching toward him in this setting only sets Harry's heart to racing and sparks every nerve in his body.

It takes an enormous effort of will to not lash out and take him down.

"Sorry," Eggsy mutters. Harry gets the distinct impression that Eggsy isn't talking to him, though. Merlin must be speaking to him over the glasses.

He has to get out of here. He should never have come in here. He should have realized, should have known what would happen when he came face to face with all the trappings of a church. Westminster could not be farther away from South Glade Mission Church, but right now that doesn't matter.

He looks around for the way out, trying not to see all the people, so meek, so easy to kill. Even after V-Day they are still so terribly innocent and passive. Not one of them would be able to stand up to him. Their blood would run red on the ancient stone floor until he was the only one left.

"Harry. Come on, love. Let's go."

Although that's not true, is it? Eggsy would face him. Eggsy would fight until the bitter end, because that's all Eggsy knows.

Not that it would matter. In the end, he would still be standing here alone.

He jolts into motion, pushing blindly toward the exit. He remembers staggering in the church, climbing over the fallen pew, aimed like an arrow for the only way out. He remembers the terror beating in his chest, the taste of blood in his mouth, the pain of his injuries. He remembers the terrible confusion, the helpless sense of violation, the horror of realizing what he had done.

And yet the worst of it, the thing he can never flee from, can never find the way out from, isn't what he did or even the fact that he wanted to do it. It's the memory of what happened just after it was all over. When he looked around after killing the pastor and saw only dead bodies with no one left to kill. Because he hadn't felt horror then or even remorse. He had felt disappointed.

Thankfully the moment hadn't lasted long. Valentine and Gazelle had seen that he was the sole survivor and they had come for him then, finally releasing him from their control. But it happened. He remembers it quite clearly.

That's something he's never told anyone. He'll take that secret to the grave.

He takes it with him as he finally stumbles out into the June sunlight. It's not Kentucky, not America, but he's still momentarily blinded as he emerges into the bright day. For a horrible moment he can imagine them standing in front of him, smirking as they stare at him and the blood on his hands. Then his vision clears and he sees that it's just the grounds of Westminster Abbey, London, England.

He keeps walking. He needs to get as far away from this place as he can. The cab is out there waiting on them, the sign turned off so normal people won't try to hail it, but he can't bear the thought of getting inside the car right now. He needs the warm summer air on his face, the sight of those familiar London landmarks so close at hand.

Eggsy doesn't say a word. He just falls in beside him, refusing to move aside, forcing other pedestrians to flow around them.

****

By the time they reach Stanhope Mews, Harry is calm again. He's even able to feel shame over his appalling behavior at the Abbey.

But he knows he can't go back there. Someone else will have to take his role in this mission. He's gone as far as he can.

Eggsy still does not speak. He sets his umbrella down in the stand just inside the door and heads straight for the dining room. By the time Harry follows him, he already has one drink poured and is working on the second.

"No," Harry says, and is rather shocked by how hoarse he sounds, as though he's been screaming for hours.

Startled, Eggsy looks up. "No?"

He wants the drink badly, but at the same time he doesn't want to give himself up to it. He wants no more loss of control of himself, nothing that can take over his mind and render him incapable of making his own decisions.

"Suit yourself." Eggsy tosses back the whisky like it's water. He sets the glass down and reaches for the second one.

"I apologize you had to see that," Harry says. The apology is humiliating in the extreme, but it must be said. He owes Eggsy that much.

Eggsy's hand closes tightly over the glass. He lifts it to his lips and drains it in one swallow. When he turns to face Harry, he is white as a sheet. "I kept telling myself I wasn't gonna ask, I wasn't gonna make you talk about it. But I think maybe that's all bullshit."

Eggsy thunks the second glass down beside the first. " 'Cause, see, we don't ever talk about it. And you know, maybe we should. Maybe I oughta tell you that every fucking time you walk out that door, part of me is terrified I ain't ever gonna see you again." He shrugs, slow and elaborate, like he hasn't just revealed one of his darkest secrets.

Harry's breath catches, but he can't pretend to be surprised. Not when he's had similar thoughts, wondering if this is the last time, if this is the day their luck finally runs out.

It took immense courage for Eggsy to admit it out loud, though. Such an act needs to be acknowledged and repaid in kind. So Harry steels himself. "I dream about killing you. Just one more body to step over on my way out of that church."

Eggsy flinches, but he also nods a little. "I figured."

"Are we done?" Harry says. Confession is good for the soul, goes the old adage, but sometimes it's the worst thing possible.

"I dunno," Eggsy says. He laughs, low and miserable. "I mean, V-Day's in four days. You can't go back there. And I don't know what the fuck I'm gonna do when I gotta stand there and listen to them talk about all those people who died 'cause of me."

"It wasn't your fault," Harry says swiftly. He wishes now that they maybe _had_ talked about it during the past year. He should have told Eggsy this before. He should have said it over and over. Maybe if he had, Eggsy still wouldn't blame himself for what happened in that bunker.

"Just like what happened in that church wasn't your fault," Eggsy says. He smiles bitterly. "But I guess that ain't gonna stop either of us, is it?"

"I guess not," Harry says.

Silence falls between them. Eggsy looks at the liquor longingly, but doesn't pour another drink. "What are we gonna do?" he says.

"I don't know," Harry admits. It's too late to back out of the mission now, and yet he must. He will only be a liability at the memorial, unable to focus properly on the job at hand. For the safety of everyone involved, he must withdraw.

Then he looks at Eggsy, at the shadows beneath his eyes, and he realizes that wasn't what Eggsy meant at all. The question has nothing to do with Kingsman or the V-Day Memorial, or any of it. It's a question for this moment, this day, this place.

"I don't know," he says again. He walks over and puts his hand on Eggsy's back. Beneath the bespoke suit he can feel muscles strained and tense. He can't imagine what it must have done to Eggsy to see him fall apart like that at the Abbey, or what it must be doing to Eggsy to be constantly reminded of V-Day and what happened to him in Valentine's bunker.

Eggsy turns toward him, looking up at him. He's just Eggsy then, no blood on his face, no plea to stand down. He is flesh and blood, very real, and he is here in Harry's arms.

"But whatever it is," he says, "we'll get through it."

Eggsy hugs him back fiercely. "Yeah," he whispers. "Yeah, okay."


	9. July

_Just for a minute, the silver forked sky_  
_Lit you up like a star, that I will follow_

 

The Yanks observe their Independence Day holiday and to celebrate, the Statesman agents send a case of their best whisky, the bottles wrapped in obnoxious American flag labels. Merlin retaliates by sending a case of the most bland English breakfast tea imaginable, along with several packets of digestives.

Two days later, a video arrives from Jack. It shows the Statesmen ceremoniously dumping the tea into the lake behind their HQ. The caption reads, "Kept the cookies, though. Thanks, pal!" Merlin is less than pleased, but Eggsy laughs so hard he gets tears in his eyes.

He's probably overcompensating; there really ain't been anything to laugh about for the past few weeks. But what the fuck, he'll take it.

****

On Saturday Eggsy puts in a shift at the shop. He doesn't mind. Doing actual tailor stuff for a few hours isn't bad, and it's a nice change of pace from being shot at.

On Sunday he wakes up gasping, trying not to scream, visions of Gazelle and that bunker in his head. He looks over and sees Harry sitting up in bed, watching him carefully. "All right?"

"Yeah," Eggsy grunts. He scrubs at his face, trying to push away the horrible dream. He's damn glad that sickening song isn't more popular; if he ever heard it anywhere, he'd be in big trouble.

"Do you…?" Harry trails off, still uncertain about this new thing they're trying out where they actually _talk_ about shit like normal people.

"No," Eggsy says, and that's the end of that.

****

On Monday the burner goes out on the stove again, even though it was just fixed a couple months ago. Harry cusses a blue streak and orders a whole new stove, to be delivered in three days. Then just to spite the old one, he gets a new microwave, too.

On Tuesday Eggsy brings home takeaway from a new place he's seen a couple times on his way home. It's pretty good, and he and Harry look over the menu as they eat and decide they'll go back there someday.

An hour later he's in the bathroom, bent over the toilet and retching his brains out.

It's maybe not the worst two days of his life, but they sure as hell rank up there. He and Harry are both stricken with food poisoning. Eggsy's never shit himself before, but he comes close a couple times during that awful forty-eight hours. He and Harry take turns bolting for the bathroom, and the smell is utterly disgusting. Even Mr. Pickle seems to be turning up his stuffed nose.

In between visits to the loo, Eggsy curls up on one end of the couch, groaning pitifully. At the other end, Harry suffers in silence, but his face is drawn and his eyes are closed.

" 'm sorry," he says for the hundredth time.

Harry doesn't even acknowledge him.

Eggsy groans as another cramp doubles him over. "Next time we eat out, you pick the place."

"Do not mention food to me," Harry warns through gritted teeth. "Ever again."

That sounds good, Eggsy thinks. No more food. Not ever.

****

A week later he's slowly trawling down a buffet line, one eye on the hors d'oeuvres and one eye on his target. Harry's been slower to recover, and still hasn't progressed much past the soup and crackers stage, but Eggsy's appetite is back to normal. Given the chance, he'd like to sample some of the stuff on the table, but there's really no time.

The reception is in full swing; half the people here are already drunk even though it's not yet four o'clock in the afternoon. Eggsy's no stranger to crashing weddings, but this one was ridiculously easy to join. He's heard how everyone in Florida is laid back -- and apparently it's true.

Of course his bespoke suit and glasses help. He looks like he belongs here as he strolls around the hotel ballroom, sipping a champagne cocktail. A couple people meet his eye and smile and nod, but if anyone wonders who the hell he is, they keep it to themselves.

His target is standing at the bar, waiting on a drink. He's sweating in spite of the heavy air conditioning. His suit is ill-fitting and the knot in his tie is loose. He's flushed red with sunburn, and he's lost some weight in the last few weeks.

Being on the run will do that.

Eggsy sips at his drink and very deliberately does not look around. He knows Harry is on the other side of the room, near the floor-to-ceiling windows that look out onto the beach and the Gulf of Mexico. He knows one woman has asked Harry if he wants to dance and another has asked if he's friends with the groom. He knows Harry is looking devastating in his grey suit, every hair combed perfectly in place, his sharp eyes missing nothing behind the glasses.

In another time, he'd quite like to be at an event like this with Harry. Doing it properly, of course, coming here together and all, like an actual date. He suspects it could be fun.

But today is all business. Today is about the man at the bar. Today is about hunting down the last would-be-assassin who escaped Kingsman at Westminster Abbey during the V-Day Memorial.

Technically it should have been Percival's mission. He was the one in charge of security at the memorial, and he and Roxy have tracked down all the other assassins. But this bloke slipped through the cracks, and maybe as punishment for their failure to participate when it really mattered, Arthur has sent Harry and Eggsy here. To Florida. In July.

Sometimes Eggsy really hates his life.

Out over the Gulf, lightning flashes. The sky is an ominous dark slate color. He can't hear the thunder over the dance music, but he knows it's there all the same.

"Right on time," says a voice next to him.

Eggsy looks over at the man standing there. "Sorry?"

The man gestures to the storm beyond the windows. "You can set your watch by it," he says. "Every day."

"Right," Eggsy says. He has no idea what the guy is talking about.

"You're with Jason, right?" says the man. He holds out his hand. "Charles Goodman. Father of the bride."

"Oh!" Eggsy exclaims. Oh shit, is more like it. He shakes the man's hand. They both look at "Jason" -- who just so happens to be Eggsy's target and the escaped assassin from Westminster. "Yes."

Jason Fowler, as he's known over here, has friends in high places. Well, high-ish places. The wedding invitation is real, as is his friendship with the groom. When Kingsman learned of it, Arthur decided to send in two of their own as wedding guests. Eggsy placed the tracker on him when they first entered the ballroom at the start of the reception. Since then he and Harry have both been keeping an eye on him, making sure at least one of them has him in sight at all times.

(Neither of them had attended the actual wedding ceremony at the church. That part of the mission went without saying -- but just in case, Eggsy had made it very clear to Arthur beforehand that they would _not_ be doing that. Arthur had just replied wearily, "Do what you need to do, Gawain. That's all I ask.")

"Is this your first visit to America?" asks the father of the bride.

Eggsy thinks about a hospital in Kentucky and smiles brightly. "It is! I'm having a wonderful time, really. And this is such a lovely reception, it's really, really quite lovely."

"Enough," Merlin growls in his ear. "When you get back, remind me to sign you up for lessons on how to talk like an actual human being."

"Well, I'm glad you're enjoying it," says Charles Goodman. He smiles a little, puzzled but polite. "Thank you for coming."

"Thank you for having me," Eggsy replies without missing a beat.

The father of the bride gives him a look, then moves off to greet another guest. Crisis averted, Eggsy blows out his breath. "Fuck me."

Half an hour later, Harry says quietly that he's placed the poison in Fowler's drink. After that it's just a matter of waiting it out.

The thunderstorm is over and people are starting to say their good-byes when Fowler finally heads for the door. Harry discreetly follows him, and Eggsy comes along a little bit later. By the time he catches up to them, Harry is already leading Fowler to his own room, the pistol jammed into his side. Fowler is deathly pale and breathing through his mouth; when he sees Eggsy, he looks momentarily hopeful, but he quickly realizes this is not a chance for rescue, and he wilts a little in Harry's grasp.

Eggsy stays mostly silent during what follows. He stands there, ready for anything, as Harry uses the pen to activate the poison in Fowler's bloodstream. It's not a lethal dose; just enough to have him doubled over in pain, clutching his gut and trying not to shit his trousers.

Harry lays it out for him, very quietly, very calmly. They know who he is. They know what he tried to do at the V-Day Memorial. He is never to return to England or accept another assassination contract, or the next time it won't just be a warning. It will be death from afar, something he'll never see coming. But it will make the pain he's suffering now seem like a paper cut.

Fowler is crying, all hunched over as he nods. "Okay, okay, I promise, I swear!"

"I think he might actually mean it," Merlin observes over their glasses.

Sure he does. For now. Eggsy doesn't doubt though that eventually Fowler will be up to his old tricks. But that's fine. He's earned himself a lifetime of surveillance from Kingsman. The moment he tries something, they'll know. And then he'll earn himself another fate altogether.

Eggsy has no sympathy.

****

The house they've rented has a private beach. Not that Eggsy has seen it yet. They arrived too late last night, driving from the airport straight through the humid darkness, reaching the house just before midnight. This morning it was all business, getting ready for their confrontation with Fowler. By the time they finally get back, the hotel and the wedding reception far behind them, it's dark out again.

As they walk up the porch steps, Eggsy pockets the car keys; here in America there's no black Kingsman cab, just an expensive-looking sedan that's equipped with everything an agent could possibly need and handles like a dream. He doesn't particularly like driving on the wrong side of the road, but he's actually not too bad at it. Harry claims to be fine with it, but he flatly refused to even consider the idea. "I've done my share of driving over here," he had said at the airport. "It's your turn."

The house is pretty nice, one of those private owner deals, something Kingsman uses a lot apparently. No hotel rooms, no check-in, no messy need for false IDs and all that. It's all pre-arranged ahead of time through phone calls and e-mails, which is just the way this kind of stuff ought to be done, as far as Eggsy's concerned.

He tosses the keys on the kitchen counter. "Our flight back isn't until tomorrow morning, right?"

Harry's mouth tightens. He's just as unhappy with the heat and humidity as Eggsy is. "Yes."

Well, shit. That's annoying. He just wants to go home. Even a commercial flight would do. And yet…

He saunters forward. "I wonder what we could do to fill the time."

Harry looks at him. His eyes narrow as he stares at Eggsy in his suit and tie, giving Eggsy the distinct impression that he's suddenly become prey. "A fair question," he murmurs.

"Ain't we supposed to have a private beach?" Eggsy asks.

"I believe so," Harry says.

"Seems like we oughta check it out," he says with a wink. "Seein' as how we're paying for the privilege."

"It would only be proper," Harry agrees. He's still staring at Eggsy with that predatory gleam in his eye.

"Meet you outside in five?" Eggsy says.

Harry nods. "All right."

Eggsy makes himself presentable in record time, brushing his teeth, combing his hair, slipping a little tube of lubricant in his trousers' pocket. He checks his reflection and makes sure his tie is securely knotted at his throat, then smooths down his jacket. He's been in the suit all day and he's ready to take it off -- but then again, that's half the fun.

He opens the sliding glass door that lets out onto the back deck. A hideous lamp in the shape of a palm tree sits out here, casting a golden glow on the deck, but everything beyond that small circle of light is pitch black. He can hear the sound of the ocean, unseen waves rolling in -- or maybe out, who the fuck knows -- with the tide, but he can't see it yet. The air is stiflingly hot and humid, barely relieved by the sea breeze.

Harry stands by the railing. He's taken off his jacket and tie and undone a couple buttons on his shirt. Bastard.

Lightning flashes out over the Gulf; a few seconds later, thunder rumbles. It's a bit too close for comfort, but then again, another storm might actually be welcome, Eggsy thinks. It's fucking hot out.

He walks up to Harry and sets his hands on Harry's waist. Like always, he has to lean up to kiss him, not quite on his toes, but close. 

Wild horses couldn't drag it out of him, but he fucking loves that.

They break apart, and Eggsy can't help smirking a little. "Always did want to have sex on the beach."

Harry gives him that look of affection that always makes him feel warm inside. "It's nowhere near as romantic as you might think. Sand everywhere."

Like something that trivial is going to stop him. "So," he says with a shrug, "I guess we'll just have to take a shower after."

For half a second he thinks Harry is going to refuse anyway, that they'll be stuck here under the light of this ugly palm tree lamp. Then Harry sort of pushes himself off the railing. "Then come with me."

They're nearly at the steps when Eggsy halts. "Wait. Wait." He toes off his Oxfords and peels off his socks. "No sand," he grins.

"Very good idea," Harry approves. He takes his shoes off the correct way, of course. Over his shoulder, lightning flashes.

They walk down onto the beach. Eggsy reaches out and finds Harry's hand and their fingers entwine. The sand is warm beneath his feet and between his toes. The sea breeze stirs his hair, which is starting to wilt from its careful styling. Thunder booms out over the water. Harry is a solid presence beside him, a form growing more shadowy as they walk toward the water and leave the light behind; their clasped hands seem to be the only thing holding Harry by his side.

By the time they reach the water's edge, his eyes have adjusted. He can see the white tips of the waves as they roll in. There are a thousand stars out but storm clouds are rolling in. Still, it's enough light to see by, made brighter by the increasing flares of lightning.

It's probably not a good idea to stay out here by the water with all this lightning. So instead of suggesting that they go back, Eggsy turns to Harry and kisses him.

They've kissed in a lot of places, some of them quite exotic. But nothing compares to that kiss before the water. Electricity crackles in the air around them and moves through them. Harry's arms are around him, holding him close at first, then supporting him as they sink down onto the sand. And still he breathes in Harry, tastes him, loves him.

They shed their clothes quickly, tossing them aside without a care. Waves roll up the beach and lick at his toes while Harry kisses his mouth, his throat, his chest. He spreads his legs and glides his fingers over Harry's back and shoulders.

Lightning splits the night, highlighting Harry against the stormy sky. A second later, a deep roll of thunder follows. Harry's mouth closes over his nipple and Eggsy winds his fingers through Harry's hair and pushes up with his hips.

There's sand in his hair and the wind picks up, and he has to turn his head so he doesn't get sand in his eyes. Harry kisses him and he can taste salt and sea. Lightning strobes overhead and they roll over and he stares down at Harry for a long moment before leaning down to kiss him.

Warm raindrops land on his head, his back. They laugh a little as he curses and scrambles in the sand for his trousers so he can get the lube, and the sky lights up for nearly ten seconds straight from all the lightning. He sees Harry smiling up at him, hair a mess of sandy curls, just waiting for him.

Slowly he sinks down on Harry's cock, breathing out as the waves reach for them. Harry's hands glide over his arse, his thighs. He moves with the tide and rumble of the thunder, and when they've called out into the night, the rain washes over them and Eggsy loves, oh he loves.

****

Two days later, though, when he's still finding sand between his toes and in his arsecrack, he's willing to concede that maybe Harry was right.

Sex on the beach really ain't all that great.

****

True to her word, they meet his mum for dinner one night. Nowhere fancy, of course, just a Garfunkel's with a kids' menu that has stuff Daisy will eat.

Eggsy sits beside his mum and smiles at her, feeling so damn proud. She lost her job, yeah, but she also told him last week that she's joined a support group. Apparently they meet once a week. Half the time, she says, they don't even talk about V-Day, unless someone wants to. They go shopping or help a member of the group paint their living room. Whatever they're doing though, it seems to be working; she hasn't needed him to get Daisy since the time Harry took her alone.

He's thought about telling Harry, but so far he hasn't. There are support groups for just about everyone: people who killed their spouse, people who killed their friends, even people who killed their own children. Eggsy's pretty sure though that there's no support group for people who killed fifty members of a hate church in a bloody massacre.

Then again, there might be. He hasn't exactly gone searching for one.

Even if there were, though, it wouldn't matter. Harry would never go. That's one thing Eggsy is certain of.

At any rate, dinner ends up being okay. Daisy colors on the table and Harry kinda overdoes it with compliments to his mum, but mostly they act like normal people. When the bill comes, Eggsy takes it -- and his mum glares so strenuously at Harry that Eggsy has to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

But he doesn't want her getting the wrong impression, so he says, "It's okay, Mum. We trade off. This one's on me."

His mum doesn't seem too happy about that, but at least she stops scowling at Harry.

****

It turns surprisingly hot out. All of England sweats and complains, and JB is never far from his water bowl. At night he and Harry swelter under even a thin sheet, and in the morning Eggsy turns the tap in the shower to the coolest water he can stand.

Getting dressed in the suit is torture. He glares irritably at Harry, who seems unruffled by the heat. "Fuck this. Even my fucking balls are sweating."

"Don't be crass," Harry says, buttoning his cuffs.

"Oh, like yours ain't?"

Harry gazes at him coolly. "As a matter of fact, no."

"Liar," Eggsy says. Ain't no way.

Harry just gives him a look, head slightly tilted.

Eggsy smirks. Challenge accepted.

That day they arrive at the shop even later than usual.

****

_Lights spin prettily about the room. The air is heavy with the reek of blood and shit. A bouncy pop song blares from the speakers._

_She smirks at him, just a little. Then she attacks._

_Everything else falls away then. His grief over Harry's death. His worry about what's happening to his mum and Daisy. All he knows then is the dazzling light reflected off the blades of her feet -- and the even brighter terror of knowing he is about to die.  
_

_Somehow he gets moving. He blocks her attack and ends up flying halfway across the room. There is no pain. Not yet, anyway_.

_She circles again, and Valentine yells at her. She leaps at him, and Eggsy knows, he fucking_ knows, _that she's going to kill him slowly, just carve him into little pieces while he's still alive._

_And then the world will burn._

_Light blinds him for an instant. He twists away and rolls, but he's too slow. He lies on the floor and stares in disbelief at the arm he left behind._

_He looks up, and Richmond Valentine is standing over him. "Say goodbye, you little fucker."_

_He wants to get up, to keep on fighting. But he's got nothing left to give. Except for the arm he already gave up to Gazelle, hahaha._

_And, well, maybe it won't be so bad. He'll be with Harry again and his dad. And if he just waits a little bit, most everyone he knows will show up, too._

_He shuts his eyes and waits to die._

****

The sound of the gunshot still rings in his ears as he wakes up with a shocked inhale. He scrabbles at the sheets, kicking his way free. He hears the gasping noises he's making but for the time being he can't do a fucking thing about it.

He clambers out of bed and stands there, chest heaving. He can still smell the blood, red and choking.

"Eggsy?"

"Yeah," he says thickly. He swallows hard and makes himself breathe normally. He doesn't turn around, though. 

"Can I get you anything?"

Sure. A new brain. Convenient memory loss. A decent night's sleep.

_This ain't that kind of movie._

He shakes his head.

Harry doesn't press the issue. After a few moments Eggsy walks unsteadily into the bathroom. He washes his face, has a long piss, then washes up again.

He returns to the bedroom. He's okay now. He looks at Harry sitting up, waiting on him, worrying for him, and he manages a little smile. "Sorry."

Harry doesn't say he's got nothing to apologize for, or tell him that he'll be all right, or any of that bullshit. He just lies back down and makes room for Eggsy. 

Harry is sleepwarm and comforting. Eggsy presses against him, fitting them together, drowning himself in the physical reassurance of Harry's body. The heat wave has broken but even if it hadn't he wouldn't move. He needs this right now more than anything else.

Strong arms wrap around him. A soft kiss is laid on his forehead.

And at last Eggsy lets himself breathe.

****

It's Sunday night and he's doing laundry when Harry walks up behind him and kisses the back of his neck. He embraces Eggsy from behind and rests his cheek on the top of Eggsy's head. 

Eggsy gives him a look. Which doesn't really work seeing as how Harry can't even see his face. "Uh, what are you doing?"

"That, my dear, was called a kiss," Harry says. 

He rolls his eyes a little. "Yeah, thanks. But for real. I'm folding socks. Ain't exactly romantic."

"No, it isn't," Harry agrees. He lifts his head up but does not release his hold on Eggsy. "But it occurred to me that we didn't properly christen this house when you moved in."

The thought makes Eggsy's heart quicken. Suddenly he couldn't give a shit about the socks in front of him. "You sure about that? Think I remember us fucking in every room."

Harry nuzzles at the soft spot beneath his ear. "Except this laundry room." His lips are warm as he kisses Eggsy's neck.

There's absolutely no reason to play coy, but seriously. "That's 'cause there ain't no room in here," he says.

"Nonsense," Harry says. His right thumb moves in a caress over Eggsy's stomach. He dips his head and kisses Eggsy's neck again, lower this time. "We just need to be a little creative."

Eggsy can't help but laugh. "I fucking love you, you know that?"

"Yes, I do," Harry says. "Now why don't you get on the washer and let's see what we can achieve."


	10. August

_And if I grow old, I know I'm gonna be_  
_I'm gonna be the man who's growing old with you_

 

August arrives, warm and sunny. Thankfully the weather is pleasant, though, nothing like last month's heat wave.

Harry turns over the page on the calendar and glares at the numbers in their little white squares. One in particular earns his wrath; if he could, he would erase that day from existence altogether.

Then again, if he did that, he might well erase his own existence. So maybe it's for the best that such a power remains frustratingly out of reach.

****

He catches Eggsy at furtive whisperings that instantly halt whenever he is around. Harry is not stupid; he knows exactly what this is all about. It doesn't help that he spots Eggsy's tablet one night and the text that's right there for anyone to see. He certainly didn't intend to eavesdrop, but Eggsy asked him to bring the tablet to him, and the words are right there:

_I've known him for a long time, and I've never known him to celebrate his birthday. But if you want my help, I'm in._

The next day he confronts Merlin at his desk, the screens showing the interior of an office in Prague, where Kay is placing bugs on a target Kingsman needs surveilled.

"I know what you and Eggsy are up to," he says. "Might I remind you that you of all people know I won't appreciate it."

"What do you mean?" Merlin asks. He barely glances up from his computer.

"For fuck's sake," Harry says. "Don't encourage him."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Merlin says, so perfectly innocent that Harry is sorely tempted to strangle him.

****

That same afternoon he's walking down to the gym when he hears Lancelot talking to someone. He turns the corner and sees she's on her phone.

"Yes," she says. "A hundred of them. All delivered. You can do that?"

Harry stops dead. Roxy looks up and sees him, and her face falls into an _Oh shit_ expression.

"Yes, thank you," she says swiftly. She ducks her head like she's trying to minimize herself as a target. "That'll be fine. I've gotta go now."

She ends the call but Harry is already walking away. 

****

Halfway through dinner he says, "I would like to make a request."

Eggsy looks up, his fork piled high with rice and veg. "What's that?"

"I don't want any fuss over my birthday," Harry says.

Eggsy blinks. "Okay."

"I'm serious," Harry says.

"Okay," Eggsy says. He grins. "What, you think I'd make a fuss?"

"I know you would," Harry replies. He doesn't mention the text he saw, or Roxy's phone call. This way he can let Eggsy save face and undo his plans without embarrassment. "I'm asking you not to."

"You can count on me," Eggsy says, and winks.

****

It's not that Harry has anything against birthdays. It's just that they don't actually _mean_ anything. The last one to really matter was when he turned twenty-five and the contents of his trust fund became his to access. Since then, August 10th has just been another ordinary day. 

But this year it's different. This year his birthday just highlights the cruel age difference between him and Eggsy, and reminds him of all the looks they've received when they go out together and they do something to make it clear they are a couple. Sometimes people look puzzled. Other times they are downright hostile. For the most part Harry is perfectly capable of ignoring them all – but that doesn't mean he doesn't notice.

All the quiet doubts he privately harbors have risen to the surface with the impending date. What is he doing, chaining Eggsy to an old man? Does Eggsy even have the faintest idea what it means to give up his youth to someone like him? How can he be so selfish?

During the day it's easy enough to lay the worries to rest. Eggsy has never once shown any inclination to stray. And though he admires celebrities of all ages with equal fervor, his gaze doesn't follow people on the street. He's made it quite clear that Harry is the only one for him.

At night, though, Harry looks over at the young man sleeping next to him, and he wonders. And he worries.

****

On Monday morning, Eggsy's phone rings while he's in the bathroom; through the door he yells, "Can you get that? I'm 'specting a call!"

Harry doesn't recognize the number. "Hello?"

"Yeah, this is Bill calling to confirm your delivery for Wednesday."

"Delivery of what?" Harry says calmly. He turns to glare at the closed bathroom door.

"Says here one crate," says the man on the other end. He rattles off the address of Harry and Eggsy's house. "This you?"

"Who placed this order?" Harry demands. He sincerely doesn't want to get angry with Eggsy, but it's hard not to. He thought this whole birthday thing was over and done with. He asked nicely and Eggsy agreed. So what the fuck is going on?

"Doesn't say," says Bill. "I'm just calling to confirm."

"Well, you can cancel the order," Harry snaps. "We don't want it."

"I can't do that," Bill says. "It's your stuff, not mine."

"It is _not_ 'my stuff,' as you put it," Harry says stiffly. He's barely finished speaking when the bathroom door opens and Eggsy streaks out, stark naked and reaching for the phone.

Harry hands it over with another glare.

"Yeah," Eggsy says into the phone. He nods even though of course the deliveryman can't see him. "Yeah, that's right. Okay. Good. Okay. Yeah. Cheers." He ends the call.

"What was that all about?" Harry demands.

Eggsy tosses the phone onto the bed. "Rox ordered something for her girlfriend, but she don't want it delivered to the house. It's supposed to be a surprise. I said she could have it shipped here."

It's a perfectly valid excuse. It might even be true. But Harry's suspicions are higher than they've ever been, and he doesn't believe it. Not for one second.

Out loud though, he just says, "Well, in that case she's more than welcome to use our house for as long as she needs."

Eggsy grins. "That's what I said."

Harry gives him a lingering look, wishing he could find out the truth – while wanting nothing to do with it at the same time.

"Better get going," Eggsy says. "We're already late."

"Yes," Harry sighs.

****

Tuesday night Eggsy is everywhere in a flurry of cleaning. He polishes the dining room table until it gleams beneath the chandelier, then stands on a chair to dust the lamp itself. He mutters under his breath about moving the furniture, but quickly bites his tongue when he sees Harry glowering at him.

Having just about given up hope of getting out of this with any dignity, Harry makes one last appeal as he makes his rounds through the house, checking to make sure all the doors and windows are locked. "I don't want any fuss tomorrow."

"Hand on heart," Eggsy says, but he's trying not to smile as he says it, damn him.

"And a gentleman always keeps his word," Harry says.

They go up the stairs together; Eggsy never joins in his nightly ritual of locking down the house, but just watches him from the steps. "Yeah, but we both know I ain't no gentleman," Eggsy teases.

This is much less true than it ever used to be, but Harry refuses to be distracted. "You did promise."

"I know," Eggsy says. He turns on the bedroom light and heads for the bathroom. He turns the light on in there and then sighs heavily. "What was you saying about keeping your word?" He tosses the toothpaste at Harry.

Harry catches it without even looking. "Hardly the same thing."

Eggsy lingers in the doorway, holding his toothbrush. "I promised, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did," Harry reminds him. He tosses the tube of toothpaste, all crumpled in the middle from when he used it this morning, back at Eggsy.

Eggsy salutes him with it, then disappears in the bathroom.

Harry shuts the bedroom door and wonders if it's too late to simply run away.

****

August 10th dawns warm but cloudy, although the forecast calls for sun before noon. Harry lies still for a little bit, unwilling to start the day and acknowledge what he's been steadfastly trying to deny ever since he flipped that calendar page over to August.

Today is his birthday. 

Next to him, Eggsy stirs and makes an unhappy noise; early mornings and Eggsy do not mix well. Harry takes advantage of his sleepy state to ease out of bed and head for the bathroom. With any luck, he can avoid the inevitable for a little while longer.

For a wonder, it actually seems like he's going to get his wish. Eggsy comes down as Harry sits at the dining room table having breakfast. "Morning, love." Eggsy leans down to kiss his cheek before passing by and going into the kitchen for his coffee. It's how most of their mornings start, nothing out of the ordinary. 

Surprised but mostly relieved, Harry just says, "Good morning, dear." And that's that. The morning moves on like they all do. They eat breakfast and watch the news. They leave the house late, get to the shop late, arrive at HQ late. On the shuttle Eggsy plays games on his mobile, texts his friends, and yawns a lot. He doesn't do anything different or even say the dreaded b-word. It might just be another Wednesday. 

Harry has never been on such high alert in all his life.

To bleed off some of the tension, he goes down to the firing range and spends a good hour filling targets with holes. It helps a little, and by the time he's done he feels a bit calmer and also rather annoyed at himself. He ought to just flat-out ask Eggsy what he has planned instead of walking around acting like he's in the dark.

He leaves the firing range with a sure stride and the determination to find Eggsy and have the truth from him. Right away, though, those plans fall apart, because Merlin is waiting for him in the hall, holding his clipboard under one arm. "There you are. Care to do lunch?"

Instantly suspicious all over again, Harry says, "All right."

Merlin looks as innocent as always, like this day is no different from any other. Harry watches him carefully and tenses up as they approach the dining room, half-expecting a crowd of people to yell _Surprise!_ and throw shit in the air. Instead there's just the muted clink of silverware and glasses as people eat their lunch. Harry blows out his breath and shakes his head.

"Everything okay?" Merlin asks.

"Yes," he says, but he gives Merlin a long look as they take their seat. He wouldn't put it past Merlin to have arranged their lunch as the distraction while Eggsy puts the finishing touches on whatever he's got planned.

Lunch, however, turns out to be just that: lunch. They discuss the changes to the recruit testing that Merlin intends to submit to Arthur. Change is a slow process at Kingsman, and Harry wouldn't be at all surprised if there was nothing new in place by the time Bors finally retires. Assuming he makes it that far; last week Bors ended up in Medical after throwing himself out of a moving car. His injuries weren't serious, but the news had gone around the agency in seconds, swiftly followed by unkind laughter and bets wondering if the knight even wanted to retire or if he planned to go out with a bang.

After lunch Harry retreats to the library, working on what will probably be his next mission. He's still in the information-gathering stage, putting together seemingly random incidents to form a pattern and see if there's actually anything worth investigating. The research keeps him occupied for most of the afternoon, and for several hours he even manages to forget what day it is.

And then his phone chimes with a text from Eggsy. _Heading home 2 get that delivery 4 Rox. C u later._

Immediately Harry's chest tightens. Ah yes. One hundred somethings in a crate. Assuming there's just one delivery being made today.

 _Okay_ , he replies. _I might be late._

Eggsy's reply is slow in coming. _Ok. Let me know when u leave._

 _I will_ , he promises, and hits Send with a wince.

****

It's not quite seven o'clock when Harry finally arrives at the shop. He lets himself out onto the pavement, locks the door behind him, and then stops dead. The cab he called is not there. Instead, Eggsy waits for him. "Hi."

"Hello," Harry says. Having fully expected Eggsy to be at home, preparing for the exact kind of birthday fuss he doesn't want, he's taken completely by surprise.

"Care to go for a walk?" Eggsy asks. He's dressed in a sharp black suit, his hair perfectly combed, his tie in one of the more exotic knots he favors. He smells of aftershave and his eyes are a clear blue. He is absolutely beautiful, and just standing there looking at him, Harry falls in love with him all over again.

"All right," he says.

They walk slowly down Savile Row, past all the shops shut for the day. Overhead the sky is still bright with summer sunlight. They don't talk or hold hands. They just walk together, enjoying the day and each other's company. Despite knowing that he's deliberately walking into a trap, Harry feels wonderfully light-hearted.

At the end of the street they turn right onto Conduit, and Harry knows then where they're headed. He doesn't say anything, though. He simply walks with Eggsy up to one of London's most exclusive restaurants – which just so happens to be his favorite.

They have a reservation, of course, something Eggsy must have made months ago. They're shown to their table and seated, and Eggsy smiles at him.

Feeling completely ridiculous for how he's been overreacting all week, Harry shakes his head. "No fuss?"

Eggsy's smile brightens into a grin. "No fuss," he says. "But I got you thinkin' there was, didn't I?"

"Yes," he has to admit, "you most certainly did."

"Cool," Eggsy says. He's so smug that Harry can't help but think of ways to retaliate; only the fact that they're in a very posh restaurant saves him from being solidly kissed into repentance right here and now.

Of course, once they get home, all bets are off.

The food is exquisite, the wine even more so, and Harry drinks perhaps a bit more than he should. He rationalizes it by telling himself that he's allowed, after the week he's had. Across from him, Eggsy takes another sip, his cheeks flushed and his eyes shining, and Harry's heart skips a beat.

He never knew he could love someone like this.

It's dark out when they finally leave Sketch, although the city remains bright with artificial light. This time Eggsy reaches for his hand, and although Harry is normally not much for public displays of affection, he has no qualms about it tonight.

There is a cab waiting in front of the shop, something else Eggsy obviously arranged ahead of time. They get in and Eggsy squeezes his hand and rests it on top of his thigh. Harry strokes his leg and sees with pleased satisfaction that there is already a growing bulge in Eggsy's trousers.

At home there is no barking dog to greet them; JB must have been dropped off at Michelle's for the night. The moment the door is shut behind them, Eggsy has him pressed up against it, kissing him. Harry pulls him close with both hands and kisses him right back.

"Been wanting to do that all night," Eggsy says.

Harry hums in agreement.

"So I got something for you," Eggsy says.

"I already have everything I could possibly want right here," Harry says, and minutely tightens his grip on Eggsy's waist.

Adroitly Eggsy slips away. "You say that now," he says. "But just wait."

They sit on the couch for this. His gift is not wrapped. There is no card. Just a plain white box that when opened reveals two paper tickets of the kind Harry hasn't seen in years, not since everything went digital. The tickets are for _My Fair Lady_. In November. At the Sydney Opera House.

Stunned, Harry looks up. "Eggsy…"

"Seemed kinda fitting," Eggsy says. He shrugs a little as he says it, but there's relief in his eyes, like he had been worried about how his gift would be received. "And I always did want to go to Australia."

"It's lovely," Harry says. He hasn't been in years, but he can't imagine it's changed all that much. And the Opera House is so beautiful it ought to be one of the modern wonders of the world. "Thank you," he says. "Thank you very much."

Eggsy just beams, full of pride.

"I know Merlin will be very happy to see this show," Harry continues. "Thank you."

Eggsy's face falls. "What."

Harry holds up the tickets. "You don't mind, do you? They _are_ my tickets, correct? Therefore I can bring whomever I want?"

"Well…" Eggsy blinks. "Yeah, I guess. But…"

"Should I call him now, do you think?" Harry muses. He taps his chin thoughtfully with the tickets. "Or perhaps I should wait until tomorrow. I don't want to wake him up."

Eggsy just stares at him in bewildered shock, like he still can't grasp what just happened.

Harry bites the inside of his cheek, but it's a futile gesture. He simply can't keep a straight face anymore. "I got you thinking, didn't I?"

Comprehension dawns in Eggsy's eyes. "You… Fuck! Harry!"

After a week of being trolled by the best, it feels awfully good to get his revenge. "Yes, dear?" he says sweetly.

"I oughta…" Eggsy shakes his head, but he's reluctantly smiling all the same. "Fuck. All right, yeah. You really got me."

"No fuss," Harry says, still with a bit of a smirk.

Eggsy bursts out laughing. "No fuss."

****

Eggsy himself is his other present, naked and laid out for him like an offering. Harry takes his time unwrapping this gift, lingering lovingly over every inch of bare skin, returning again and again for one more kiss. He draws it out until they're both flushed and sweating, and he isn't sure he can hold on any longer. And when he comes, it is with Eggsy's name on his lips.

He falls asleep soon after, one arm around Eggsy, utterly relaxed and content. Eggsy kisses him softly and for the first time all day says, "Happy Birthday, Harry."

****

The hot weather breaks during the third week of August when the remnants of an Atlantic hurricane wash over all of Britain. Several inches of rain are dumped on the city, and high winds cause some property damage. Harry watches it all from his living room, having wisely elected to stay home today; even the Rainmakers would turn inside out in those winds.

Around noon they lose the electricity. The weather report on the TV cuts off in mid-sentence, and Eggsy groans. "So much for lunch."

It's surprisingly tempting to say something extremely crude then about finding something else to eat; clearly Eggsy is a bad influence on him. Harry manages to resist the temptation, however. "I'm sure you'll figure it out."

"Better eat the ice cream before it all melts," Eggsy says. As though the power has been off for hours, not all of one minute. He winks, then gets up and heads for the kitchen.

So Eggsy has ice cream straight from the carton for lunch. He offers a bowl to Harry, who refuses, although not without regret. He honestly wouldn't mind having some, but these days it's a lot harder for him to maintain the physical fitness he needs to remain in the field. He won't jeopardise his future for the sake of a fleeting bit of sweetness.

Eggsy holds out the spoon and waves it around. He's sitting next to Harry on the couch, bare feet on the cushion, knees pointing toward Harry. "You sure? Don't want it to melt, do you?"

"I said no," Harry replies, a bit more sharply than he intended.

Eggsy's eyes widen for a moment, then he shoves the spoon in his own mouth. "Fine," he says around a mouthful of butter pecan ice cream. His shoulders hunch a little, and the line of his jaw tightens.

Harry closes his book with a decisive snap and sets it down on the coffee table. "Eggsy, I appreciate the offer. Truly I do." He tries to keep his tone neutral, his voice calm; he knows he's already screwed up. "But it's one thing for you to have such a…meal. It's not as easy for me to overcome the effects of that kind of diet." He desperately doesn't want to have to say the words circling relentlessly around his head just then: _You're still young. And I am not._

Eggsy's lips close around his spoon. He regards Harry for a long moment, his eyes blue and thoughtful. Then he pulls the spoon out, a move that he almost certainly doesn't intend to be sexy – but it is. It very much is.

"Okay," Eggsy says. He thrusts his spoon into the carton of ice cream so it stands up like the sword in the stone. "Yeah, I get it."

Greatly relieved, Harry says, "Thank you."

Eggsy leans forward and puts the ice cream carton on the coffee table beside Harry's book. He gives it a little shove, but it doesn't slide very far on the glass. "And anyway, you're wrong. It ain't exactly easy for me, either. And I fucking hate working out."

Harry hadn't known that. He's always enjoyed the sight of Eggsy in the gym at HQ, sweat darkening his hair, eyes intently focused on his goal. He loves watching the way Eggsy's body moves as he spars with a partner, or the sleek muscles in his arms as he lifts weights.

"The thing is," Eggsy says. He stares at nothing in particular, his gaze distant with remembering. "Wasn't exactly much to do in my neighborhood, you know? Weren't no jobs, and I fucking hated doing Dean's drug shit. Me and my mates, we knew this bloke who worked at a gym. He gave us the code to the employee entrance so we could come in and use it when we wanted, but we had to promise to do it at night so no one would see us." He shrugs. "It was somethin' to do, but it wasn't never fun. It was just somethin'. Kept me busy, away from Dean and all his shit."

Harry says nothing. He never really asked why someone from Eggsy's background had come to Kingsman already in such prime physical condition. He wishes now that he had asked, that he had expressed an interest.

"Anyway," Eggsy says. His eyes clear and he looks at Harry. "What I meant was, it ain't that easy for me, either. But sometimes you just gotta have some ice cream, you get me?"

"I do," Harry says.

"But you still ain't gonna do it, are you?" Eggsy says wryly.

"No," Harry says.

Eggsy shakes his head. "I don't get you."

He's already in too deep, but Harry can't help but take the bait. "What do you mean?"

"Sometimes you act like you already got one foot in the grave," Eggsy says. "When I know for a fact that you can still carry me up them steps like it's nothing."

That is most decidedly not true, but Harry would rather die than admit it. His back is always in pain the next day after such a stunt. It won't be too long before he won't be able to hide that from Eggsy, and then they'll have to reluctantly put an end to such strenuous activities.

Eggsy hesitates, then says, "Is this still about your birthday?"

Harry sighs. In truth he hasn't actually thought about it for a week or so, but of course now it's the foremost thing on his mind. "It most certainly is not."

" 'Cause I think it is," Eggsy says, completely ignoring his response. "And I was gonna say this on the actual day, but then I changed my mind, but now I'm changing it back again." He shifts on the couch so he's facing Harry squarely. He looks terrifyingly earnest, and Harry feels an almost violent need to get up, to refuse to participate in this conversation any longer.

But he promised Eggsy they would talk about things. They're both adults here and they need to act like it. So instead he stays exactly where he is.

"I know what you think," Eggsy says. "You ain't exactly subtle. I know, and I don't care. Ya hear me? I don't fucking care how old you are. You're the one I want. Now, next year, ten years from now, thirty years from now when I gotta push you around in a wheelchair and I've lost all my hair. You got it?"

There is not one thing Harry can say to that. Not one denial, not one protest. His throat feels tight, making it downright impossible to speak. He can only stare at Eggsy, his beloved, dear Eggsy, and wonder how the hell he ever got so lucky.

And he hopes, he very much hopes, that they do get their thirty years together. He's too much of a pragmatist to think it's very likely, but he hopes for it all the same. He really does.

"You idiot," Eggsy says with fond affection. He scoots in, and then he's in Harry's arms, nestled in right where he fits best. "I fucking love you, don't you know that?"

He has to clear his throat before he can answer. "I do know it. And I love you, too." He holds Eggsy tight, breathing him in.

"Good," Eggsy says. He kisses Harry's neck, lips warm on his jugular.

And that's when the power comes back on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took some highly amused inspiration for this chapter from the "Eagleton" episode of Parks and Recreation. Also, it was purely on a whim that I looked up shows at the Sydney Opera House. You can imagine my delighted shock to discover they are in fact showing _My Fair Lady_ in November. :-)


	11. September

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With many thanks to [laireshi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/laireshi/pseuds/laireshi) for her help in finding just the right place for Harry to shop.
> 
> Also there's a tiny bit more of the crossover here, with things a little more obvious. :-)

_All these broken pieces fit together_  
_To make a perfect picture of us_

 

Having royally fucked with Harry for his birthday, Eggsy fully expects to be trolled in return. This is, after all, the man who called himself a Catholic whore to a member of a hate church. His suspicions grow steadily through the month of August, but when September rolls around, he goes on high alert.

Nothing happens, though. If Harry is planning anything, he's playing it close to the vest. He only mentions Eggsy's birthday once, and then just in passing, commenting that Eggsy should start to think of where he would like to go out for dinner that night.

The weather remains pleasantly warm, but the nights are getting cooler. They open the window at night and it feels good to lay in the circle of Harry's arms, surrounded by his heat. In the morning when he takes JB out, he needs to wear his hoodie. Some mornings when he comes back inside he remembers to hang it up. Mostly he forgets, though.

A couple days before his birthday, Roxy asks him what he wants. They're jogging around the track at HQ, not yet having worked up a sweat but getting there. Eggsy hears her question, but he has no idea how to answer, so he just shrugs. "Don't gotta get me anything."

Roxy kind of rolls her eyes. "I know that. But I'm getting you something and unless you want to be surprised with a Hello Kitty handbag, you really ought to let me know what you want."

Aghast, Eggsy stares at her. "You wouldn't."

She grins at him.

Actually, she really would. So he thinks about it as they round the track and start down the homestretch. He's crap at this and he knows it. The minutes tick by, the silence growing more unbearable, until at last he says as casually as he can manage, "Wouldn't say no to some of that coffee I like."

Roxy stares at him blankly.

"You know," Eggsy says, a little desperately. "That stuff, I can't ever remember the fucking name? You know the one I like."

Roxy sighs and shakes her head, ponytail swinging. Feeling incredibly stupid, Eggsy focuses on putting one foot in front of the other. He's really no good at this kind of thing. He's not used to being able to ask for something completely frivolous and actually expect to get it.

They're nearly done with their lap when Roxy suddenly says, "Eve asked me to move in with her."

Eggsy is so surprised he nearly trips over his own feet. "You gonna do it?"

"I'm not sure," Roxy says. She stops running and looks over at him; she's flushed and sweating now, but that might not be entirely from their exertion. "Was it okay when you moved in with Harry?"

" 'course it was," Eggsy says. "Why, you worried about it?"

"Well, yeah," she says. "I mean, all the little things that couples argue about suddenly aren't so little when you live together. I just..." She makes a face. "I'm overthinking it, aren't I?"

"Nah," Eggsy says. He thinks of the running arguments he and Harry have, the bickering over stupid things like him not hanging up his hoodie or Harry messing up the toothpaste. Or the way Harry won't come to bed until he's checked every lock in the house, much to Eggsy's exasperation. Or his own tendency to buy stuff at the supermarket 'cause it looks good, only to let it sit uneaten for so long that Harry finally tosses it in the rubbish.

But all those things don't really mean much. They _do_ , obviously, but other stuff counts for so much more. Kisses in the middle of the night, making dinner together, knowing that the man he loves is right there beside him.

"You'll be great," he says to Roxy. He smiles. "Swear it."

****

Later that night he finds himself thinking about that conversation. They're cleaning up from dinner, Harry rinsing the dishes and slotting them in the dishwasher, Eggsy putting the edible leftovers in plastic containers and binning the rest. It's frighteningly domestic, the kind of thing he could never have imagined himself doing just two years ago. 

But this is right where he belongs. In this kitchen that's just a little too small when they're both moving around in here. Next to Harry in his crisp white shirt and polka-dotted tie, Oxfords shining under the lights, a recent haircut doing nothing to tame the curls he so despises.

Harry sets their water glasses in the dishwasher then shuts the door. It's not full enough yet to run, so he doesn't bother. He just washes his hands and dries them on the dish towel hanging from the bar on the oven.

Only then does he acknowledge Eggsy's scrutiny. "Yes?"

Eggsy can't help it. He breaks out into a huge grin. Fuck, he loves Harry so much. 

"Nothing," he says, way too innocent.

Harry studies him, making Eggsy conscious of his own rumpled state: the tie loosely knotted, the hair he didn't bother with after his post-run shower, the way he will never be as elegant as Harry, no matter how hard he tries. His smile kinda disappears then, leaving him standing there feeling silly. 

"Then if you're finished," Harry says, "we were going to clean the bathroom next."

His bubble burst, Eggsy scowls. "We were?"

"Yes," Harry says. He walks out of the kitchen, and Eggsy can only glower at his stupidly broad shoulders and sigh. 

Nowhere else he'd rather be. Yeah, right.

****

Monday afternoon Harry finds him in the armory. He's cleaning his gun, not really thinking about anything. When Harry walks in, he looks up in surprise. That quickly changes to worry, though, when he sees the look on Harry's face. "What's wrong?"

Harry sighs. "Eggsy, I'm so sorry. I have to go to Poland. Now."

Eggsy stares up at him. "What the hell?"

"There could be a problem with our programmer friend," Harry says. "And I don't intend to lose her after the trouble we went through to save her."

"What's going on?" Eggsy asks. He stands up, the gun forgotten. He hopes the lady is okay; she's been a good source of information for Kingsman ever since they saved her life at Christmas.

"I'm sorry," Harry says. "I have to go. They're already prepping the plane."

It suddenly hits him that Harry keeps saying "I", not "we." Which is just not fucking on. "Okay," he says. "Then let's go."

Harry looks pained. "Eggsy, this is a solo mission. I'm so sorry. I know it's terrible timing. I'll make it up to you when I get back."

He's never gonna hear something like that and not think about that awful day he and Harry fought, the day of South Glade Mission Church. A dart of cold dread pierces his stomach, making him want to throw up. "And when's that gonna be?"

"I won't know until I get there," Harry says. His mouth is drawn down, a sign of how unhappy he is. "I'll text you as soon as I can."

"Yeah, okay," Eggsy says heavily. After all, it's not like he can say anything else.

****

The morning of his birthday is dark and cloudy; rain threatens at any moment. Eggsy lets JB out and makes himself some coffee. He didn't sleep so well, waking up often to a bed that was far too empty.

He feels better than he did yesterday afternoon, though. He's all but certain that this is just a ruse, a way of messing with him. Harry hasn't gone anywhere. He's still at HQ, having stayed the night there while congratulating himself on successfully fucking with Eggsy.

Two can play that game, though. 

On his way to the shop he sends Harry a text. _How's it going?_

He expects a generic answer, something that's supposed to make it sound like Harry is really in Poland. And in fact a response is slow in coming; he's walking down Savile Row before his phone chimes.

_I haven't been able to make contact yet._

Eggsy smirks a little. _That sucks._ He enters the shop and says good morning to Andrew behind the counter.

His phone chimes again. _Happy Birthday. I'm sorry I can't be there. But I did get you something._

A photo arrives. It's an awesome gold pocket watch nestled inside a white box. The box rests atop a bag; one corner of the logo is obscured, but he can still see quite clearly that it's from Desa Unicum, Marszalkowska Street, Warsaw.

He's still on the steps of the shop when he sees that. He screeches to a halt then, unable to believe it. That picture is fucking real. Harry really _is_ in Poland.

"Fuck my life," Eggsy says out loud. The disappointment is crushing. He really does have to spend his birthday alone.

Not _alone_ alone, of course. His mum wants him to come over for dinner. Roxy has told him she plans to take him out for lunch, and she's given him strict orders not to make the trip out to HQ. And all that is cool, it really is -- but it's just not the same without Harry.

He glowers down at his phone. He's got to say something, even though what he really wants to say is completely unacceptable.

 _Thanks_ , he finally writes. _Looks great. Hope you come home soon._

 _I hope so too_ , Harry writes back.

Eggsy shoves his phone in his pocket. "Shit."

****

Roxy picks him up at the shop just after noon. She has a pretty gift bag and a kiss on the cheek for him. "Happy Birthday."

He kisses her back. "Thanks, Rox." He gives the bag a shake. It's kind of heavy, and he starts to grin, thinking he knows exactly what's inside.

The coffee beans he asked for are in there, all right. But they aren't sitting at the bottom of the gift bag. They are nestled inside a very pink, very twee Hello Kitty handbag.

Roxy beams. "Hope you like it."

Eggsy takes the handbag out and sets the coffee beans aside. The bag is too small to fit over his shoulder, so he just clutches it to his chest with both hands on the pink strap, like every affronted little old lady who ever grasped her worldly possessions close when a chav like him walked past. "Whattaya think? Is it me?"

"It's totally you," Roxy laughs.

"It's aces," Eggsy says. He already knows he's gonna give it to Daisy – and he knows perfectly well that Roxy knows it, too, and that's why she got it.

She grins at him. "Ready for lunch?"

"Hell yeah," Eggsy says. "I'm starving."

Since Roxy has refused to tell him where she's taking him, he follows her without comment to the nearest Tube station. They talk about random shit on the ride: whether or not Bors is going to survive until the end of the year; football and the World Cup in Japan; the best hotels in Paris; which of them makes the best breakfast.

Their stop arrives and they get off. Eggsy follows Roxy out of the station and into the day, which is still just a dull cloudy smear. A raindrop plops onto his forehead and he wipes it away with his sleeve; he has the Rainmaker, of course, but for some reason it always feels wrong to use it as just a plain old umbrella.

The rain holds off, though, and they make it to their destination without getting wet. Roxy holds the door open, and Eggsy walks into the pub with some bemusement, wondering why they had to go all the way across the city just for lunch.

"Come on," Roxy says. She leads him toward a back room.

The instant he walks in, he realizes he's been well and truly trolled. They yell _Surprise!_ in one voice, all of them sitting around a long table. His mum and Daisy, Ryan and Jamal, Merlin and Percival, a pretty black lady he recognizes from pictures as Roxy's girlfriend Eve, and in a chair next to another one draped with birthday balloons, a very smug Harry Hart.

"Oh fuck," Eggsy says.

They all laugh, and he laughs helplessly along with them. The table is set with bowls of crisps and pretzels and everyone has a drink. There's a smaller table along one wall where wrapped presents are piled up. A banner is draped along the wall behind the empty chair meant for him, proclaiming _Happy Birthday Eggsy_ in bold blue letters. It's the first birthday party he's had in over fifteen years, and already it's the best one ever.

He takes his seat beside Harry. "You little shit."

Harry is smiling, still ridiculously pleased with himself. "Revenge is sweet, my dear." They kiss briefly, to the chorus of a few groans and Daisy's delighted laughter. "Happy Birthday, Eggsy."

"Was you really gone?" he demands.

"Yes, I was," Harry says. "But I got back last night."

"Fuck," Eggsy says with feeling. Yeah, he's been trolled, all right. That'll teach him.

"Just you wait until next year," he threatens.

"I'm already looking forward to it," Harry says. His eyes shine with laughter as he smiles at Eggsy.

A waiter approaches then to get Eggsy's drink order, and there is a chorus demanding food, and Daisy shouts his name in an increasingly strident voice in order to get his attention. His mum is beaming proudly at him, and Roxy is smiling a secret little smile at Eve. Merlin is focused on the pretzels in front of him, and Percival is talking seriously with Jamal about something while Ryan sneaks a peek at his phone. The balloons tied to his chair drift about on the air currents, and the presents stacked up on the other table all have such pretty paper.

It's all really amazing.

"Did you do all this?" he asks.

"I had some help," Harry says. "I hope it's what you wanted."

Eggsy says, "It's perfect."

It's a fucking awesome party. The pub keeps them all supplied with great food and drinks, and the cake is to die for. Ryan and Percival play darts and keep each other laughing. Merlin ends up with Daisy on his lap, and Eggsy takes about a hundred pictures both for the memories and the blackmail material. His mum embarrasses him by kissing him in front of everyone, but then Harry does the same thing, and strangely enough he's not bothered by that at all.

He opens his presents and everyone takes pictures. He gets new games, a jumper, cufflinks, books, a set of lock picks, and the beautiful gold pocket watch Harry flew all the way to Warsaw to buy.

His mum tells him she's going out with one of the guys from her support group next week. Eggsy hugs her and makes her promise to tell him all about it when she gets back. He also gets the guy's name so he can look him up later in the Kingsman network and find out everything he can about him; he's never again going to let anyone hurt his mum.

The cake disappears, leaving only crumbs behind. The beer and wine keep flowing, and Eggsy knows he's having too many but he's having too much fun to really worry about it. Daisy falls asleep on Harry's lap, then wakes up when Ryan laughs too loud and startles her. Roxy ties one of the balloons to Eggsy's ear, and Jamal insists on throwing a dart at it; he's all set to do it, too, when Percival calmly plucks it out of his hand.

He gets to talk to Eve for a little bit and discovers that she's really cool. She's also head over heels in love with Roxy, which makes her just about perfect in Eggsy's book. She ends up having to leave early though, when her boss calls and says she's needed back at the office. To Eggsy's delight, she doesn't name her boss, but just calls him M.

"I'm gonna start calling Arthur 'A'," he announces.

"I wouldn't," Harry replies calmly. He's had enough to drink that he's smiling more freely now, his broad shoulders relaxed beneath the bespoke suit.

"Yeah, maybe you're right," Eggsy agrees. "Best not to mess with 'im. 'Sides, we got our very own M, don't we?" He gestures with his chin at Merlin, who is now lining up at the dartboard with Jamal.

Harry chuckles. "Indeed we do."

Everyone around them is busy talking or eating or looking at their phones. For this brief space of time, it's just the two of them. Eggsy takes his chance to look seriously at Harry and say, "Thanks for this. It's really fucking great."

"I'm glad you're happy," Harry says. He smiles warmly, the kind of smile that always makes Eggsy's heart lift in his chest.

"And when we get home," Eggsy vows, "I'm gonna show you how thankful I am."

"Oh?" Harry regards him with an expression just shy of smug satisfaction. "And here I was thinking that I had one more present to give _you._ "

Eggsy laughs, happier than he's ever been. "Ain't never gonna say no to that."

****

Two days later he's in the tube station at Charing Cross, posing as a busker. It's been years since he played guitar, even longer since he actually owned one. After Dean smashed his against the steps outside their flat he had to make do with borrowing Jamal's. It was never quite the same, though, and eventually he gave up even trying.

He feels oddly comfortable standing there in jeans and a hoodie, the guitar case open at his feet for any money people want to toss at him. He was a little self-conscious at first, but the response from the passersby has been generally positive, and he's in the groove now, playing and singing with ease.

"Heads up," Merlin says over his glasses. He's hooked into the Underground's security system, all their cameras and information available at his fingertips. "Train incoming."

Eggsy straightens up a little. Further down the hall, where he's been frowning down at his mobile for the past few minutes, Harry starts walking forward, putting the scene in motion.

He hears the train pull in, but can't see it. Harry walks toward him, still staring down at his phone, and kicks Eggsy's guitar case. Coins go flying, a few of them actually bouncing out of the case and rolling across the floor.

"Oi!" Eggsy yells, all offended anger. "Watch where you're going!"

Harry lowers his phone and glares at him. In his other hand he carries a black briefcase. "Maybe you shouldn't have your case in the middle of the floor where anyone can walk into it."

"And maybe you oughta stop staring at your fucking phone and pay attention!" Eggsy snaps. People are pouring into the hall now from the stopped train.

"Don't you talk to me like that," Harry says stiffly.

"Yeah?" Eggsy challenges.

In his ear, Merlin says, "There he is."

Eggsy spots him. Their target is tall and wearing a hideous tan sports jacket over his jeans. He's carrying a black briefcase identical to the one in Harry's hand. As he draws near, Eggsy lunges at Harry and kicks at his case. "Let's see how you like it!"

The briefcase goes flying, aided by a subtle flick of Harry's wrist. It strikes their target in the back of the legs and he goes down. As he falls he also takes out the woman walking in front of him, which really sucks and wasn't part of the plan, but there's no choice but to keep going.

"What the fuck!" yells their target.

"I'm so sorry!" Harry hurries forward. He scoops up their target's briefcase and glares at Eggsy. "Are you okay?" He speaks mostly to the fallen woman.

Other people are gathering around now. Some give Eggsy dirty looks. An older man helps the woman to her feet. Their target stands up with a huff and snatches up his briefcase. "Keep your hands to yourself, asshole."

Harry backs away, holding up the hand still clutching his phone in a gesture of innocence. "Just trying to help." Offended, believing himself to be the victim here, he walks quickly toward the train platform.

Their target doesn't even glance at the woman he caused to fall. He gazes down at his briefcase for a moment, seeming to test the weight. Satisfied, he walks on, hurrying down the hall.

The commotion is already dying down. "Galahad is on board," Merlin says in his ear.

Eggsy raises his guitar. "Anyway," he says to no one in particular, "here's 'Wonderwall.'"

Ten minutes later he's walking swiftly up Haymarket, past all the theatres advertising their shows. The guitar case bumps against his leg with every step. He listens with relief when Merlin tells him that Harry has successfully changed trains at Leicester Square, and picks up his pace a little. It's sunny but cool out, and he's glad for his hoodie. 

A few minutes later he arrives at his destination. He goes down the steps into the Piccadilly Circus tube station, and it's not long before he's on the platform watching the train pull in.

He gets in the fourth car. Standing there at the pole, having politely given up his seat to others, is Harry. The briefcase he stole from their target, the one containing plans for a dirty bomb, is nestled between his Oxfords.

Eggsy sets his guitar case down and nods at him, one commuter to another. He grabs hold of the pole and dares to let his hand slide down just enough so his little finger makes contact with Harry's thumb. A tiny smirk tugs at his lips, something he's powerless to resist.

He fucking loves his life. Getting to do this every day is more than he could have ever hoped for. And it's not just the part where he gets to dress up in a bespoke suit and be a spy and save the world.

It's the fact that he gets to do it with Harry.

The doors close and the train starts moving. Eggsy sways with the movement as they plunge from light into the darkness of the tunnel.

****

Nightfall, and he stands midway up the steps, watching Harry move through the ritual, checking the doors and windows to make sure they're locked even though they were locked last night and they haven't been opened since then. It's just something Harry does, old spy behavior that's as much a part of him as his sweet tooth and the scar above his right knee. And though most nights it exasperates Eggsy with the completely unnecessary waste of time, deep down he knows he wouldn't want it any other way.

He doesn't remember Harry visiting their flat when Lee died, or receiving his father's medal. He's tried, but he can't make the memory come. He's actually glad of that. He wants their first meeting to be that morning outside Holborn police station, the winter sun shining on Harry's hair.

What he _does_ remember is the thing his mum said when she told him she was marrying Dean. "I thought I was going to live forever with your dad," she had said. She was drinking, and he remembers the smell of it on her breath. "Then he died and I thought I'd be alone forever. But then I found Dean and he takes good care of us, don't he? So just you remember, babe, you never know where you're gonna end up. You just have to grab on to something good while you can."

It's so fucking true. But the thing is, the thing Eggsy still can hardly believe some days, is that he doesn't really need to hold on at all.

This is his life now. Kingsman on one side, his family on the other. And all around, filling up the space in between, walking toward the stairs now that the ritual is complete, Harry Hart.

Eggsy looks around at the house he owns, where he's lived for nearly a year. He looks at Harry standing at the foot of the stairs, gazing up at him with a question in his soft brown eyes.

"Hold up," he says.

Harry moves aside so he can thud down the stairs in his socks and head into the living room. He goes over to the couch and picks up the hoodie he threw across the back when he returned from taking JB for his walk. He takes it into the loo and hangs it on one of the coat hooks in there.

He pauses then for a moment. He was standing right here on the worst, longest day of his life. This was where he broke Harry's heart, where Harry tore him in two.

And this is where he's stood many a morning making a last-minute check on his appearance before leaving to go save the world while wearing a pinstriped suit. This is where Harry has come up behind him and kissed him, where they've stumbled out into the living room, fumbling at each other's clothes and almost tripping over each other in their haste.

He leaves the bathroom and crosses the living room where he and Harry have argued and fucked and laughed at old movies. They've eaten lunch on the couch, bashed their shins on the coffee table, sat here making plans to be spies together. He gave Harry a blowjob in that corner, and this is where he was standing the first time Harry took his hand and led him in a clumsy waltz around the room.

"Thank you, Eggsy," Harry says. He's talking about the hoodie and how Eggsy finally remembered to hang it up, but it feels like something more. Like maybe Harry too is caught up in memory, thinking about this life they've made together.

Maybe it ain't perfect, and maybe it never will be, but it's perfect enough for Eggsy.

Harry is still standing off to one side, waiting patiently so Eggsy can go first up the stairs. So Eggsy takes that extra step and walks right up to him.

Harry gazes back at him. He smells vaguely of the pesto sauce they had with dinner, and there's a bit of fuzz caught in his hair. Earlier today he showed Eggsy how to disarm a suitcase nuke in less than a minute. In fifteen minutes he'll be naked and stretched out on the bed, his mouth hot on Eggsy's skin.

Eggsy stretches up a little, not quite on his toes, but almost. He gives Harry a kiss. "Ready?"

"For what?" Harry asks.

Eggsy shrugs. "Dunno." He doesn't even know what he intended to say. He just knows that right here, right now, he's happy. Really fucking happy.

Harry gives him a look, then he smiles. "Come on."

Eggsy leads the way up the steps, to their bedroom. Behind him, Harry follows.


	12. October

_I've told a million lies but now I tell a single truth:_  
_There's you in everything I do._

 

"You know too much. You learned too much about us and our organization. And now you're gonna tell me exactly what you know."

Harry gazes coolly at his adversary. "Do you really think so?"

"Oh, you will," comes the dark promise. "By the time I'm done with you, you'll be begging for it."

"I rather doubt it," Harry says with a touch of pride. "I don't beg."

"We'll just see about that," Eggsy says, and he swallows Harry's cock.

His mouth is exquisite heat, and Harry tips his head back, bracing himself against the wall at his back. He's still completely dressed down to his shiny Oxfords; so is Eggsy, down on his knees in front of him.

This is something new, this game. As Kingsman agents they're often called upon to play-act, often as a necessity to save their lives, but so far they've never taken it into the bedroom. It was Eggsy's suggestion, made rather timidly, but Harry was quick to see the potential in such an idea. He came up with the specific scenario, making Eggsy's eyes light up at the thought. And now here they are: Eggsy the relentless gaoler, Harry his 'helpless' captive.

It's quite fun, actually.

Especially considering what Eggsy is doing with his tongue. Harry's breath catches and he has to actively refrain from reaching out to touch Eggsy. It's rather difficult to do; his natural instinct is to take hold of Eggsy's shoulders, or run his fingers through Eggsy's hair. Instead he makes himself stand there and not move, his arms spread and pressed to the wall as though held by invisible chains. But when Eggsy hollows his cheeks and sucks on the head of his cock, he can't help thrusting forward a little, deeper into Eggsy's mouth.

This exquisite torture goes on for some time. Eggsy has a beautiful mouth, and he knows all the things Harry loves most. When Eggsy looks up at him beneath heavy lids, his lips red and swollen, and says, "Feel like talking yet?" Harry is tempted to say fuck the game, and just fuck Eggsy instead.

But they came up with the rules together, and he must abide by them. "Never," he gasps.

"Such a pity," Eggsy says. He runs his hands up Harry's thighs. "Then you leave me with no choice." His mouth envelops Harry's cock once more.

Harry groans and shuts his eyes. The things Eggsy does with his tongue are truly obscene; he presses shaking hands against the wall. Fuck, oh fuck. "Eggsy..."

Eggsy makes a humming noise in the back of his throat.

Damn him, anyway. 

Harry wins that round. He doesn't beg. But it's close. Really close.

****

It becomes cool and rainy out. Summer is nothing but a memory at this point, and winter is fast approaching. They stay in more often than not, watching old films, sometimes, or Harry losing himself in a book while Eggsy plays one of his games. Occasionally he'll consent to play, too, something that always makes Eggsy grin. "Ought to make simulations like this," he says one day as he plays a game that involves gunning down an entire army of mercenaries. "Something for the new recruits."

"It's been considered," Harry says. He and Merlin actually discussed it not long ago, as part of the changes Merlin is planning for the training of new recruits. "But real life is rarely like a game."

Eggsy nods, his focus still on the screen. "Yeah," he says absently. "You ain't wrong."

Harry thinks about the video he saw from Valentine's bunker, when Eggsy was forced to shoot his way through Valentine's army in order to reach the safety of the Kingsman plane. It was a trial by fire, and the fact that he passed with ease does nothing to halt the nightmares or make the memories any less vivid.

"It was a good thought, though," he says.

****

A couple days later they're on the couch, watching a movie while rain patters against the front windows. Dinner is nearly ready, and Harry is pleased to realize that he's timed it just right; as the credits start to roll there is exactly ten minutes left on the oven timer. 

He turns the TV off, glances over at a loud sniffle from Eggsy, and is genuinely surprised to see him in tears. 

"That's shit," Eggsy pronounces. His voice wavers and almost breaks.

"What is?" Harry asks, although he knows. 

"Would you do that to me?" Eggsy demands. He sounds very adamant, and Harry knows right then and there that it will be a long time before they watch _Casablanca_ again. "If you was Rick and I was Ilsa, would you put me on that plane?"

Harry doesn't have to think about it very long. "Yes, I would."

" _Fuck_ that," Eggsy says vehemently. "If it was me I'd never let you outta my sight again."

"Be thankful we don't have to make that choice," Harry says. As though he hasn't thought about it before, what he would do if he were forced to choose between Eggsy and Kingsman.

Eggsy stands up. "Yeah" he says. He grabs for JB's leash. "Goin' out."

Harry lets him go without a word. They don't talk about it at dinner, and the movie might as well be forgotten. But that night, as he's pleasantly drifting into sleep, Eggsy says, "I take it back."

He is instantly alert and awake, although equally confused; he has no clue what Eggsy is talking about. "What?"

"I'd put you on the plane too," Eggsy says. "Better you be safe but far away, than be in danger here with me."

Harry relaxes again. He moves a little closer and puts an arm around Eggsy. "Yes." It's logic he agrees with, it's why he would be willing to send Eggsy away if it meant keeping him safe, while enduring unbearable loneliness as a result. It's all about Eggsy.

It always has been.

"I'd fucking hate it though," Eggsy says. He rolls toward Harry and rubs his cheek along Harry's shoulder. 

"As would I," Harry says quietly.

_You have no idea, dearest._

****

He wakes up in the black of night with a jolt, his heart beating too fast, convinced he just heard something. He lies perfectly still, not even breathing, listening for it.

Beside him, Eggsy is deeply asleep. The noise didn't come from him, for which Harry is very grateful. The nightmares that plagued them both all summer, peaking around the time of the V-Day anniversary, seem to finally be diminishing. They'll never go away completely, of course, and there will always be new fodder for them, but for now their sleep is peaceful more often than not.

Just as he starts to relax, he hears it. A loud, insistent beep.

He sighs and sits up. Next to him, Eggsy stirs and makes a fuzzy questioning noise.

"It's nothing," Harry says. Just the smoke detector beeping with a low battery. From the sound of it, it's the one in the hall. And as he opens the bedroom door, it beeps again, confirming the source.

He goes down the stairs, not bothering to turn on any lights. He hears the jingle of JB's tags as the dog lifts his head, curled up on his bed beside the couch. In the kitchen he switches on the light above the stove, not wanting anything brighter. He opens the junk drawer and starts sifting through the batteries, looking for the size he needs.

A couple minutes of searching is enough to confirm that there are none in the drawer. Neither are they in the front closet, which was a long shot anyway – he always puts batteries in the kitchen drawer.

Which means they are well and truly fucked. Without a fresh battery, the smoke detector will just keep beeping through the night. And the detectors are wired into the security system; simply removing the dying battery won't silence it.

Mocking him, the smoke detector beeps again.

"Bloody hell," Harry swears.

For a while he stands there, indecisive. He glares at JB, who's come padding into the kitchen, hoping this unscheduled activity has something to do with food. "I'm sure this is all your fault," he mutters.

JB just gazes at him soulfully. Upstairs, the smoke detector beeps again.

His mind made up, Harry stalks out of the kitchen. He goes up the stairs and into their bedroom. He finds Eggsy in bed, the covers pulled up over his head. "Make it stop," Eggsy whines.

"Get up," Harry says. "We're going to a hotel."

Eggsy flings the covers back and sits up. His hair is a sleepy mess that normally Harry would love to run his fingers through. "We are?"

"It's either that or shoot the fucking thing," Harry snaps. He reaches for his phone and starts looking through his contacts for hotels.

"Probably not a good idea," Eggsy says. He scoots over to the edge of the bed. "So where we going?"

"Anywhere but here," Harry says.

"We gotta find somewhere that allows pets," Eggsy points out. "We can't leave JB. He's got more sensitive ears than us."

Out in the hall, the smoke detector beeps, as if in agreement.

Harry scrolls quickly through the list. The Four Seasons it is then.

****

They spend several days doing research for their next mission, which will be in Rome. They sit across from each other in the library, studying road maps and satellite pictures and the dossier of their target, an arms dealer named Rossi. Beneath the table, Eggsy slides his foot up Harry's leg, his face the picture of innocence. A little while later Harry gets up to pour them each a new cup of coffee, and when he returns, he leans over and gives Eggsy a quick kiss.

"You two are giving this organization a bad name." Merlin looks at them, his lips pursed. He's just come into the library, his clipboard in hand.

For a split second Eggsy looks stricken. Then he laughs. "Don't be a hater."

Merlin gives them both a glare, then walks over to an empty cubicle across the room. He pulls out the chair, sets his clipboard down, and then sits, his posture ramrod straight.

"Jealous, that one," Eggsy says with a firm nod.

"Just so," Harry says. And he kisses Eggsy again.

Half an hour later, Eggsy excuses himself, and Harry takes advantage of the chance to walk over to Merlin's cubicle. He slides over an empty chair, pauses so Merlin can nod his permission, and then sits.

"Much as I appreciate your commentary on my lifestyle," he says, "I would appreciate it still more if you kept it to yourself."

Merlin sits back. Unlike Eggsy, he is utterly unrepentant. "You wouldn't say that if you were the one who had to watch you two all year."

This is perhaps true, but Harry is not about to apologize for any of it. When it comes to Eggsy, he has very few regrets; certainly none of them involve the number of kisses they have shared.

"My idea of a good time," Merlin says, "does not include playing the voyeur."

Eggsy would smirk and say that was a pity. Harry just nods. "Your point is taken." He supposes he ought to be rather alarmed by how unprofessional his conduct has become – and yet he really can't be arsed enough to care.

"That being said," Merlin continues, "I am actually happy for you."

"And I am glad to hear that," Harry says. He means it sincerely, too, despite how it comes out. He was never really angry with Merlin, although he did mean what he said about keeping the commentary away. He won't have Eggsy put in the position of second-guessing himself and his behavior. Eggsy's known little enough happiness in his life; if he wants to kiss Harry in front of the entire world, Harry is not going to refuse him.

"We've known each other for a long time," Merlin says. He nods a little, perhaps mentally ticking off the years. "You're not like me, perfectly content with your own company. You—"

"You're not perfectly content with anything," Harry interrupts. "It's why we get on so well."

"Yes," Merlin says. "Well. Be that as it may." He smiles a little, a modest thinning of his mouth. "You deserve someone like Eggsy. And I'm glad for you both."

"Thank you," Harry says. He would never admit it out loud, but he is pleased to have his old friend's approval. He and Merlin have been through a lot together, through missions where he thought the sound of Merlin's voice in his ear would be the last thing he ever heard, and those scary few weeks in 2002 when they waited to hear back from Merlin's doctor on some test results. They have been drunk together more times than he can count, shared stories from their childhoods, and even gone on holiday together once, on a memorable trip to Ibiza.

"You're good for each other," Merlin says. "Not so good for my blood pressure, but I suspect that doesn't factor into your reasoning."

"Not at all," Harry assures him with a smile.

Merlin chuckles, shaking his head a bit. "Despite your disregard for my welfare," he says, "which I will remember at Christmas, by the way, it's good to see you happy."

"Thank you," Harry says politely, because he's absurdly touched by this, and because he honestly doesn't know what else to say. Merlin was there when his last attempt at a real relationship died a spectacular death, and that was eight years ago. He knows Merlin is genuinely pleased for him, that over the years Merlin has been quietly hoping for something like this even while having not the slightest idea how he could help.

"Go on with you," Merlin says. He glances over Harry's shoulder, where Eggsy stands, having just returned to the library.

Harry stands up, briefly clasps his friend's shoulder, then returns to the table where Eggsy is just sitting down. "Everything okay?" Eggsy asks.

"Yes," he says. "Everything's just fine."

****

It may have cooled off in London, but it's still warm enough in Rome as he and Eggsy sit in an outdoor café, keeping watch over their target. They've been here for a few days now, learning more about Rossi's schedule and movements. He likes this café, and Harry has shown up on three of the four days, managing to get a table near Rossi's every time. And on each of those days, Eggsy has joined him after half an hour, carrying a heavy rucksack and plunking himself down in the other chair at the table with the weary air only a student can possess.

Today as Eggsy passed by Rossi's table, he dropped the contents of his poison pen into the coffee cup sitting there. Now it's simply a matter of finding the right time to activate it.

But no man gets to be an international arms dealer without developing a well-honed sense of paranoia. For whatever reason, Rossi figures it out. He takes no more than sip of his coffee before he's suddenly on his feet. He does his best to smooth over his abrupt behavior by looking at his phone as though he received a startling message, but to Harry, it's obvious that he's on to them.

"Oh shit," Eggsy says quietly.

Rossi heads for the Vespa parked at the curb. Normally Harry would not react, knowing that to draw attention to himself now is the worst possible thing he could do. But even one sip of the poisoned coffee is enough to do the job -- and he has no intention of letting Rossi get away.

He's on his feet, headed for their car even before Rossi's ass touches the seat. Eggsy hurries along behind him, the rucksack on his shoulders. Just as Rossi starts up the scooter, he looks up at them; his face is a mask of fury.

Harry stares back, quite calm.

Their car is little, red, and very Italian. It handles like a dream, which is even better. Rossi's Vespa can fit through alleys their car can't squeeze into, and weave among crowded pedestrians. The man seems to understand that his only chance of survival lies in staying in public. Whether or not he understands that he's been poisoned, he is right about this much at least. As long as he remains in the crowds, they can't activate the poison and risk him running over innocent civilians as he loses control of both his body and the scooter.

As part of their preparations for the mission, Harry studied maps of the surrounding area. He knows these streets even though he's never physically been to this part of Rome before. With Merlin in his ear as further guidance, he takes the car down alleys and around corners at frightening speed. They weave in and out of traffic, dodging other cars and pedestrians alike, while Eggsy clings to the door handle with one hand and holds onto the pen with another, waiting for his chance.

That opportunity finally comes when the Vespa disappears around a corner, headed back toward the café where it all began. Harry whips the car down a narrow side street so hard his shoulder slams into the door and Eggsy curses out loud. He jams the accelerator down and the little car speeds forward, wonderfully responsive.

They shoot out onto the main street just as the Vespa comes around a curve, coming right at them. They are the only car in front of it.

Eggsy shouts as he activates the poison pen. Harry slams on the brakes and hauls the wheel over.

The Vespa shudders and nearly topples over as Rossi's whole body jerks with the first spasm. Their little red car spins out and ends up covering both lanes of the road. The scooter crashes into the side of their car and Rossi, already dying, is flung onto the pavement. On either side, traffic comes to a screeching halt.

Eggsy lets go of his death grip on the door handle. "Fucking hell," he mutters as he tucks the pen into his pocket. He looks at Rossi lying on the ground, then up at Harry. "Where the fuck did you learn how to drive like that?"

Harry sees no reason to lie. "From you, actually."

Eggsy stares at him for a moment, and then he beams with pride.

****

On the plane on their way back, Harry watches Eggsy as he fills out his mission report on his tablet. It's a necessary but loathed part of any mission, but unlike Harry, who procrastinates to the point of defiance, Eggsy prefers to hold his nose and get it over with as quickly as possible. It's by far the better approach to a distasteful task, and Harry is proud of him.

He's also selfishly grateful for this chance to study Eggsy unobserved. He lets his gaze linger on Eggsy's bent neck, the line of his jaw, the deft hands moving over the screen. At any point on any mission shared with Eggsy, he thinks that might be his favorite part, but this moment here may truly be the best. This time of peace, when neither of them are hurt or ill, when they can savor a job well done, when they are going home together -- yes, this is definitely Harry's favorite part.

 _It's good to see you happy_ , Merlin had said, and even after all this time, sometimes Harry can still scarcely believe it's true. Eggsy has so thoroughly changed his life, upending it so completely, that everything that came before him seems like it happened to someone else. Was he ever that person who thought of nothing but his job? Was he really so disinclined to smile, to succumb to feelings of light-hearted content?

But he was, of course. He lived for Kingsman, for doing his duty, for tacking those newspaper headlines to the walls and expecting nothing in return. He looked no further ahead than the next mission. He had long since given up any hope of happiness in his own life, or found any reason to look forward to coming home.

Eggsy changed all that, in ways he is still trying to understand. The entire world is brighter for having Eggsy in his life, and for that alone Harry will never stop loving him.

Still working on his tablet, Eggsy makes a disgruntled noise and pokes angrily at the screen. "Fucking autocorrect. Fucking quit it."

Harry bites his lip, but it doesn't matter because Eggsy isn't looking anyway, so he lets himself smile.

"You oughta do yours now, too," Eggsy says, still intent on his screen.

"Yes, I suppose so," Harry agrees, without any intention of actually following through.

Eggsy taps a little bit more at his tablet, then looks up. He's wearing the Kingsman glasses, but he's not in the suit; his role as a student had him dressed in faded jeans and a striped shirt beneath his favorite hoodie. The glasses give him an intellectual air and enhance the beauty of his ever-changing eyes. He is enough to take Harry's breath away and make his heart skip a beat.

"What is it with you and these reports?" Eggsy says. "Woulda figured you for the kinda person to do 'em right away. Dot all the i's and cross the t's, that kinda thing."

"You would think," Harry says. He's always dragged his heels when it comes to filing forms and reports. His work stands on its own – or it should. There is always a debrief back at HQ with Arthur and the mission footage from his glasses is filed on the network servers, so any report is merely a redundancy. Half the time he never even gets around to it; Merlin long ago stopped chiding him for it.

"I suppose I would rather spend my time in a more productive manner," he says.

Eggsy makes a rude noise. "Like starin' at me?" He smirks. "Yeah, I saw you."

Chagrined, and yet oddly proud of him, Harry says, "I should hope so." He doesn't miss a beat; he might have been caught but he can still roll with it, still work a deception. "I wasn't exactly trying to be subtle."

Eggsy grins. "Definitely not."

Were it not for the conversation he recently had with Merlin, reminding him that they really _have_ been terribly unprofessional, Harry would be tempted to take Eggsy right here and now. Instead he says lightly, "Perhaps we should work on your observational skills. Test your ability to predict your opponent's next move."

Eggsy lays his tablet aside. "Yeah? Like how?"

"You have thirty seconds," Harry says, "to look at me and guess what I am planning to do to you tonight."

Eggsy's breath catches. "And if I guess right?"

"You get to experience that plan in all its effect," Harry promises.

"And if I guess wrong?" Eggsy says, his voice a bit lower.

"Then you have to write _my_ report," Harry says.

Eggsy laughs, his eyes shining. "Deal."

****

He guesses right. Harry ends up writing his own mission report, but he's not one bit sorry about it.

****

With a week left in what has so far been a very rainy October, Eggsy starts to fret about Halloween. More specifically, Daisy's costume.

"She told me she wants to be a princess, but my mum already got her a cat costume. It's even got a tail and everything. What the hell am I gonna do?"

Harry is dusting the pictures in the front hall, taking his time and doing it right. He lowers the duster now and looks over at Eggsy slouched in the armchair. "I fail to see why this should even concern you."

" 'Cause she told me!" Eggsy exclaims. "She expects me to take her out as a princess, not a cat."

Harry starts on another picture. "I hardly think she will mind," he says.

"Hello," Eggsy retorts. "Have you _met_ my sister?"

"Eggsy," Harry says patiently, "she is young. I rather doubt she will resent you for the rest of your life if she has to wear ears and a tail on Halloween instead of a pink dress."

"You never know," Eggsy mutters.

"A compromise, then," he suggests. "Let her wear the dress, but add the cat accessories."

"And be what, a cat princess?" Eggsy scoffs. He picks up his phone like he's going to check it, then lets it fall back to his lap.

"Well, why not?" Harry says. He honestly doesn't see what the fuss is all about. Halloween is about dressing up in silly costumes. Who says they have to make sense?

Eggsy considers this, chewing on his lower lip. Then he suddenly brightens. "Fuck. Yeah, why not?" He stands up and zips his hoodie up a little higher. He checks to make sure his wallet is in his jeans, slips his phone in his pocket, then says, "I'm gonna go get her that princess costume."

As he walks past, he stops and gives Harry a kiss. "Thanks."

"My pleasure," Harry says. The door closes and he resumes dusting.

****

The doors and windows are closed and locked, and the ritual complete, Harry heads for the stairs, ready for bed. Halfway up, Eggsy stands waiting on him, as he does most nights.

Together they climb the remaining steps. Harry thinks of those nights after Eggsy broke his ankle, when he carried Eggsy up the stairs, careful not to bump his injured leg against the wall. He thinks of the very first time they made this trip together, kissing and pulling at each other's clothing, when he wasn't even sure they would make it into the bedroom before falling onto the floor. He thinks of that very first night of them all, the night Eggsy stayed here as his guest after the test on the train tracks, when his self-control was sorely tested and he tossed and turned for hours in the bed that had suddenly felt far too large and uncomfortable.

For almost a year they've been going up these steps together. Almost a year of sharing this house with Eggsy, a year of creating a life together that far surpasses anything Harry could have ever imagined.

Just inside the bedroom, Eggsy's phone chimes. He looks at it. "Go ahead," he says. "It's Rox."

Harry goes in the bathroom and shuts the door. He hopes everything is all right with Roxy, but he doesn't worry too much about it; if it's anything important, Eggsy will tell him.

He pulls his toothbrush out of the holder and reaches for the toothpaste, ready to just squeeze it in the middle like he always does, no matter how often he promises Eggsy he'll stop. It's not something he plans. It's just habit. It's how he's always done it.

It's such a little thing. But clearly it means a lot to Eggsy, or he wouldn't keep nagging Harry about it. So carefully, pleased that for once he remembered to do it right, Harry uses the toothpaste from the bottom of the tube.

By the time he steps back into the bedroom, Eggsy is off his phone and getting undressed. Harry stops to admire the play of muscles in his back and arms, the sprinkling of moles dotted across his shoulders, the swell of his ass. He watches Eggsy toss his shirt in the laundry basket, then lift one foot so he can pull off his socks.

He doesn't know how many times he's enjoyed this amazing sight, or how often he's waited for Eggsy to come join him in bed. They've fucked up against the mirror and made love on the floor beneath the window. Eggsy has kissed him in the dark after nightmares of blood and slaughter, and he has held Eggsy when the tremors swept through him after dreams of shining blades and death.

On his first night back here after his return from Kentucky, he stayed up until the small hours, reluctant to go to bed and close his eyes. He had been afraid of what he would see in his dreams, afraid to deliver himself up to what seemed inevitable.

What got him moving, finally, was wondering how Eggsy was doing. Wondering if Eggsy had the same doubts and fears. He had thought about it for some time before deciding that no, Eggsy was much braver than him. Eggsy would always face his fears head-on, meeting them with his chin up and his shoulders back, braced for whatever might come.

How could he do any less?

So he had slept, and in the morning he had woken up and he had known then that everything would be all right.

He first confessed his love for Eggsy in this bed. Standing in this room one morning, he had resolved to ask Eggsy to move in with him. And somehow, at some point during the last year, he realized that he never wants anything else but this. This life with Eggsy, this unending journey of discovery, this love he never imagined he could feel.

Whatever lies ahead of them, whatever wonders wait to be revealed, he looks forward to finding out.

"You all set?" Eggsy asks, waiting for him to acknowledge the bathroom is free for him to use.

Harry looks at him. "Yes," he says.

Eggsy nods. He starts forward, then stops. He frowns a little. "You okay?"

"Of course," Harry says. He smiles, thinking of how he is going to kiss Eggsy as soon as they are in bed.

Eggsy hesitates, giving him a narrow look, wanting to make sure he's telling the truth.

"I was merely thinking how much I love you," Harry says honestly. He doesn't know what prompts that admission of truth, but he can't regret it when he sees the way Eggsy's eyes light up.

"Oh," Eggsy says. A faint flush of color spreads across his cheeks. "About as much as I love you, is my guess."

"I think you might be right," Harry says solemnly.

"Thought so," Eggsy winks.

He is too delectable, standing there with the lamplight gleaming on his bare chest and that look in his eyes, the one Harry is always so happy to see. He can't help but step forward then, intent on kissing him.

"Oi." Eggsy shies away. "I ain't brushed my teeth yet, and we had all that garlic at dinner."

Harry could care less about that, but he surrenders anyway. "All right," he says.

Eggsy heads for the bathroom. "I'll be right out," he says.

Harry starts to turn down the bed. "Take your time," he says. "I'll be here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has left feedback of any kind on this fic. I deeply appreciate each and every one.
> 
> I originally started writing this shortly after the Empire interview with Matthew Vaughn came out, when it seemed all but certain that Colin would not be back for the sequel. I was utterly heartbroken, and I became determined to write an epic fic that was nothing but happy.
> 
> Well, this being me, there was angst mixed in with the happy, but I hope that it makes for a more realistic look at the happy-ever-after. And as it turns out, we DO get the happy ending after all, as far as Harry's fate goes. So I guess everything came out okay in the end. :-)


End file.
